New Vegas: Aftermath
by Darkstar860
Summary: The dust from the Second Battle of the Hoover Dam settles, and the Mojave is irreparably altered. The 'Big Three' of Mr. House, the NCR, and the Legion have been ousted from a new, independent Vegas, and the Courier now confronts the consequences of his choices as he faces one more: use his considerable talents to bring order to the Mojave or simply disappear into the Wastes.
1. The Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Part 1

**Note:** This story takes place largely after the events of the Fallout: New Vegas, with the Courier establishing an independent New Vegas with the help of Yes Man, as I feel this is the most "natural" ending to the game, and the best starting point for the kind of story that I want to write. First, however, we begin at the end: the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. Brandon Carter, the Courier in this story is based on the character and choices from my own playthrough of New Vegas. Hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** All characters, locations, etc. are properties of Bethesda Softworks and the people who worked on the Fallout games. I do not claim to own any of them.

**The Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Part 1: War... War never Changes.**

**Hoover Dam, near the Guest Entrance **

**July 19th, 2281 19:46 p.m. **

"War. War never changes."

"What're you, getting philosophical on me, Boone?" the Courier rasped through his Ranger mask as the pair squatted side-to-side behind a pile of sandbags. All around them, Hoover Dam was in chaos: The sound of explosions ripped through the air, leaving fire and ash in their wake as the screams of the dying and wounded rose in their wake. The concrete length of the dam was choked in the bodies of NCR soldiers and Legionnaries alike, blood soaking into the scarred and weathered material. "

It's something my old CO used to say", responded the ex-soldier, his somber tone unchanged by the frenzy around them. "He was out in California during the NCR's formative years. Saw a lot of combat. Used to say that before we engaged any hostiles. Seemed appropriate."

"You know….." the Courier began, looking over at his sunglass-wearing companion, his grizzled features tinted red through the lenses in the Courier's Ranger mask. "That may be the most words you've ever said to me at one time."

"Heh…." Boone grunted, completely straightfaced. It was probably the closest he would ever come to laughing.

Raising his head over the sandbags, the Courier pulled the barrel of his All-American up and unleashed a hail of bullets on a group of oncoming Legion soldiers. He was rewarded with screams of pain and two bodies hitting the ground, blood streaming from their wounds. His cartridge spent, Carter spun away and ducked back down, already in the process of switching magazines.

"I need you here, Boone. Not back at Bitter Springs. Cause I don't know shit about war." It came out as a joke, but it was a hard truth. The wasteland was violent and unpredictable, but this was on a different scale. Everywhere he looked, it seemed, Hoover Dam was ablaze and smoking. Craters and debris left from explosions littered the dam, along with the bodies of the fallen. The tranquil silence that usually graced the dam was broken by a symphony of violence. All along its length, the familiar chop of gunfire could be heard as NCR forces and Legion soldiers fought and died and bled. A sudden rash of explosions tore through the air, engulfing large sections of the Dam in flames and death. The lucky men were incinerated immediately; the unlucky were only wounded by the shrapnel, reduced to bleeding and screaming and dying. Without warning, the massive anti-aircraft gun nearest the Dam's first tower exploded, flames erupting from its bowels as it spewed shrapnel into the sky.

"Fuck! Down!" Carter roared at his small band of soldiers, flattening himself to the ground as debris rained down around him. Hands overhead and eyes closed, he let the sounds and quaking of the explosion wash over him before he deigned to resurface, looking downfield for anymore enemies. For the moment, it looked clear. Overhead, the whining propellers of the Boomers' B-29 could hardly be heard over the chaos on the Dam.

"Good, they're here." he acknowledged, pulling his camouflaged All-American to his chest, the weapon once again filled with ammunition. "They almost fucking killed us, but they're here. At least all that listening to their history and swimming to the bottom of a fucking lake wasn't for nothing."

"Oh, we did that for a reason?" Cass quipped from his left, sliding her back against the same bags as her cohorts. "Here I thought you were just trying to bore me to death."

"Put some whiskey in it, Rose of Cassidy." the Courier growled good-naturedly, still sweeping the dam with his eyes. "We've got a Caesar to kill."

"Leave him to me." Boone's gruff voice, right in his ear.

"Fine by me." Carter agreed, raising his All-American and giving the trigger several quick squeezes. Several meters away, a Legionnaire hit the concrete of the dam, a victim of the carbine's onslaught. Somewhere nearby, a grenade exploded, throwing up a shower of debris.

"More coming!" came Cass's raucous tones over the din. Peeking over the barrier as much as he dared, the Courier replied as he squeezed off a few more rounds at the veterans now ducking into the tower.

"Shit. Boone, eyes up. Cass, with me." His companions moved to obey as the Courier shot forward towards the next pile of sandbags, keeping low as he moved. Bullets screamed by him, nipping at head and haunches. Still bogged down near the Visitor's Center, Carter seriously doubted they would be able to reach the Legion-controlled tower without dying first. On his flanks, his compatriots squeezed out rounds, dealing death with each pull of the trigger. Cass and Boone were with him because they were the best marksmen out of their merry band of misfits. And they needed to make every bullet count. More soldiers streamed in from everywhere, NCR and Legion alike flocking to the slaughter.

"What've we got?!" the Courier yelled towards his companions, seated behind his own personal pile of bags. Around him, the world grew steadily darker as the sun dipped closer to the horizon, turning the world from his mask from a bold crimson to a more subdued hue of red. It almost matched the blood on the ground.

"Tower's quiet." Boone muttered, maneuvering carefully in beside the Courier.

"I got two of 'em. Might be some still hiding."

"Better than getting none. Cass?"

"Rest of the Dam looks pretty clear." Cass observed. "Course there could be more Legion pouring out of somewhere any minute now. Oh, speak of the devil."

Carter didn't even look up to see the newest wave of enemies. "Rex!" he called, hoping his voice would reach the dog over the noise of war.

"Woof!" An enthusiastic bark from the cyberdog, who bounded up as if from nowhere and sat readily at the Courier's feet, tongue lolling from his mouth.

"Good boy." the Courier cooed, giving the dog a quick headrub. "Now sic 'em."

With a growl, the dog took off like a gunshot towards the nearest group of Legionnaires. The sound of their frightened screams as the robotically-enhanced canine descended upon them was like music to his ears.

"Alright, Big Blue. You take the point. ED-E. Command Protocol: Attack." the Courier directed his robotic allies, looking back towards the soldier-faced Securitron and the floating Eyebot.

ED-E he had no qualms about. Since he had repaired the robot back in Primm, the floating robot's steadfastness had been matched only by Rex. The Securitron, however, was a different story. Yes Man had insisted they bring it with them, but whether it would respond to his commands or not, he did not know. Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief as the machine rolled forward, with a mechanical "Yes, sir", its weaponized arms pointed towards any oncoming assailants. The Legion had nearly made it all the way across, but the NCR, despite heavy losses, was holding steady. All they had to do now was to deliver the deathblow, and the Leigion would dissolve. Crouching low, the Courier advanced swiftly, keeping his head below sandbag level. Behind him, Cass followed in the same fashion, moving from cover to cover. The occasional explosion or sizzling zap let him know that ED-E and the Securitron had neutralized an enemy. For the moment, they were only authorized to attack Legion soldiers, but that could all very well change in an instant if the NCR proved troublesome. Carter, Cass, and Boone moved up behind their robotic vanguard, reaching the nearest dam tower after only a minute or so.

"Boone, take the side ladder up. Cover us till we reach the dam's entrance, then meet us there."

"Right." the ex-Recon man growled. Stowing his hunting rifle, he began his ascent up the ladder, his footfalls clanking metallically against the rungs. From inside the screams of men could be heard as Rex went about his grisly work, and for a few moments Cass and Carter were alone. Or as alone as two people could be in the midst of a battlefield.

"Stay sharp, Cass. And try not to hit any Rangers. Let's move." And move they did, keeping their heads low as they alighted near the fortified walkway the NCR had built to cross the dam. Cass and the Courier encountered no more opposition as they moved along the dam, but as they turned the corner to the walkway that led to the Dam proper, the door burst open

"For the Legion!" screamed a man dressed in a red plumed helmet and shining, metal armor. Flanking him on either side were roughly ten Legion soldiers.

Spying the odd foursome, they charged in madly.

"They're like fucking ants." Cass whispered in exasperation, ducking behind the wall to the right of the pathway.

Opposite her, the Courier smirked as he eyed the Legion men through his scope. "You sober, Cass?" he teased, squeezing, off a few rounds.

"I thought you loved this shit."

"Nah, I like shootin Legionnaires fine." Cass retorted, uncharacteristically serious. "Just tryin not to think about what happens if we fuck up." The Courier eyed her briefly, a short chuckle passing his lips.

"Definitely sounds like someone skipped their morning drink." A torrent of gunfire rained on the pair from across the pathway. The Centurion, bloodthirsty and crazed, charged towards them, a chainsaw revving in his hands. Ignoring sandbags and his own dead, he barreled towards them, roaring like the psychopath that he was. Carter was about to put him down when a blue blur shot through his scope. The Securitron accelerated forwards, laser gun spewing red-hot death at the armored man. Despite the rounds that caught him in face, chest and legs, the centurion kept coming, raising the chainsaw high before plunging it into the torso of the unfortunate bot with a horrible screeching noise. The force of the blow caused the bot to sway wildly, loosing laser shots and several grenades into the air. To its credit, the Securitron stayed upright, filling the man with more and more laser holes as they swayed towards the edge of the pathway. With his chainsaw stuck in the robot's torso, the centurion was trapped, too proud a fool to let go of his weapon as the pair swung over the railing and into the water below.

"Shit!" the Courier exclaimed, looking at where the pair had fallen over. Renewed gunfire caused him to duck down again. "So, Cass…. bad news….." he began, as he checked how many bullets were left in his cartridge. The one downside of using automatic weapons was how easy it was to lose track of ammo. After two more clips, he'd be out.

"Yeah. I saw." she said, raising her trail carbine over her head to blindfire at the Legion gunmen. "Figured the giant robot would've lasted longer."

"Ha. Ha." the Courier retorted straightfaced over the din of gunfire. "Looks like it's time to blow some shit up. And what the fuck is Boone doing?!" he wondered, reaching for the dynamite at his belt. Were the sniper doing his job, they might still have a self-repairing, grenade-firing Securitron at their disposal. Placing the All-American to his side, Carter reached into his pocket, closing his hand around the lighter that had once belonged to Benny. Flicking the lighter to life, he lit the fuse of the stick, counted to three, turned, and hurled, synchronizing perfectly with Cass on the other side. They were soon rewarded with panicked screams and one hell of an explosion, ripping through several sandbags that had been the Legion's cover. Carbine in hand once again, Carter went prone, picking off the men who had fled cover to try the walkway, each pull of the trigger rewarded with a scream and a shower of blood. Distantly, he was aware of the slow, methodical pace of gunfire that was Boone playing reaper, packing people off to the afterlife one shot at a time. Any remaining Legion soldiers were soon deceased, and the Courier pressed forward into the entrance tower, Cass and ED-E following close behind. Inside the small building, it was quiet, with only the faintest sounds of a fight penetrating the manhole cover that led into the Dam itself. Ushering the others inside, Carter remained by the door, cracking it open to keep eyes out for the sniper and Rex. Even if it was only a brief respite, he was thankful for the break from fighting.

"Cass, make sure no one comes through that grate."

"Can't. I'm far too sober."

"Oh, for fuck's sake…." Carter breathed. "Can we not play this game in the middle of a goddamn warzone, Cass?"

"I'm tryin to put it behind me, alright?! McLafferty and the Van Graffs, maybe the drinkin, too..." Even in the silence, her voice was strained. Carter turned towards her, looking hard at the woman from behind his mask. The melancholy note in the Rose's voice grabbed at his stomach immediately.

"I thought we did that already." he felt almost cowardly hiding behind the Ranger helmet.

"Yeah, well me too." the redhead admitted sheepishly, her eyes trailing to the ground. "Felt good for a while, killin 'em and gettin to enjoy revenge for a while. But now it's just… hollow. And all the drinks don't help like they used to." "

"I'm not the person for this shit, Cass."

"Ha! Clearly. I'd be better off talkin to the robot." the venom in her voice was unmistakable.

"Well, we're not goin anywhere…" the Courier growled by way of response. The silence that followed the statement was deafening and oppressive. The sight of Boone, crouched low as he shuffled into the building with Rex behind him, was an all-too-welcome reprieve.

"Gang's all here." Carter remarked, sliding the cover away from the ladder to reveal the path into the dam. He was careful not to look at Cass.

"Let's go."

* * *

**So... yeah, first chapter. Let me know what you all think. I'm trying to go a little bit more realistic here, and focus on all the fighting/survival aspects of the Wasteland rather than the video game stuff like Pip-Boys and Courier stats that I've seen in some other fics. This'll probably have a T rating due to all the violence and language, but I'm not gonna get terribly graphic about anything. Anyways, hope you enjoyed the first part of the intro.**


	2. The Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Part 2

**The Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Part 2: War is Hell**

**Hoover Dam Interior**

**July 19th, 2281**

**20:01 p.m.**

Inside Hoover, the corridors were narrow, but well-lit. Already the sounds of battle could be heard. The familiar sounds of gunshots and men screaming and dying reached the ragtag band as they rounded a corner, pressing even deeper into the dam's structure. The trek towards the control room was a nervous one, as the anticipation of a Legion soldier or gruesome battle was upon them constantly. Rex, padding along at the head of the group, growled constantly as they moved, the scent of enemies and blood thick in the air. After what seemed an eternity of walking, the Courier's Pip-Boy let out a soft beeping. Looking down, he confirmed what he already knew.

"The control room's just up ahead." he muttered, more for his own benefit than the others.

Carter craned to look further down the corridor, where his destination lay. In front of him, the narrow corridor stretched open into a much wider area, but he could see no entrance to the room from where he stood. Moving slowly forward, he stepped out into the open, and was met immediately by two NCR patrolmen in salvaged power armor. They were outfitted identically, with some semblance of the NCR's emblem painted hastily across their chests and carrying flamers in hand. Carter shifted his carbine behind him and stepped forward, raising his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

The one on the left reacted instantly. "Halt! No one is allowed into the control room, except under explicit orders from the general."

Even with his voice distorted by the mask, the man sounded angry.

"Especially not you, Courier." He practically spat the last word, bringing his face to within inches of Carter's own.

Carter was unperturbed, staring coolly back from behind his own mask. "What, you boys still mad about Helios One?" he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. "I told your superiors it was all just a big misunderstanding. I had no clue what the hell "Archimedes" was. And by the time I did, it was too late to stop it."

The Heavy Trooper moved suddenly, his fist flying straight into Carter's gut. Though his reinforced Combat Armor took the worst of the blow, it still hurt. A lot. A sharp cough escaped the Courier's lips as he sank to one knee. Behind him Rex's growling grew louder. Carter stretched out a hand between man and dog, preventing any sudden actions.

"Fuck. You. You Wasteland shit." the man snarled, bending his head down to the Courier's level.

"Yeah." Carter coughed again as he raised his head, making it sound suspiciously like laugh. "Fuck me. The guy who's saved your army's ass so many times that I should probably be the fuckin general. I'm here to help, you dunce."

The Trooper moved to strike another blow, but JCarter was quicker, springing to his feet and lunging forwards in one smooth motion. The trooper loosed a gasp of surprise as Carter's momentum carried them both into the steel door of the control room with a resounding clang!, a 10mm pistol glinting in the Dam's overhead lighting as the Courier pushed it against the man's throat, right into the gap between chestplate and helmet. His left arm simultaneously pinned the man to the door and prevented him from raising the nozzle of his Flamer, leaving him no recourse should he wish to continue living. To his right, the other Trooper, and his companions hesitated.

"The fuck are you doin, Carter?!" Cass screeched, her eyes darting between the Courier and the other heavy trooper. Behind her, Rex growled menacingly at the armored man, as his hands brought the nozzle of the flamer up a tad. "You just said we were here to help!"

The Rose's words, however, fell on deaf ears.

"You know, I've tried really fucking hard to get along with the NCR. I helped some of your people out here and there because I liked them or I thought they were good people, but all this bullshit is really starting to wear on me. You and all your goddamn commanding officers come to me for help with supplies or training soldiers or finding lost Rangers, and then turn around and pretend like I'm the scum of the fucking earth. Do you know badly I could have fucked you? How quickly I could have snapped my fingers and completely destroyed the NCR? I could have turned Freeside into a fucking war zone with three little words in the King's ear. I could've sat idly by and let Camp Forlorn Hope wither and die and then get swallowed up by Caesar. I could have let that bomb blow up half of McCarran. Hell, I could have killed your fucking president. Really, how fucking poorly does an organization have to be run to ask a goddamn Mojave Express courier to prevent assassination attempts on their president? I've seen about enough of the New California Republic to last me a lifetime. If you somehow live through this, you can go and tell your fucking general I'm taking the Mojave out of the hands of you bumbling fucks. Vegas is better off without you."

From behind him, the sounds of fighting intensified. A harsh battlecry sounded far too close for comfort, but was cut short by the thundering of a gun.

"Legion!" Boone announced to the group as he leapt into cover behind an angle in the wall, reloading his hunting rifle as he went. ED-E floated into the space he had vacated, its zapper firing rapidly at the oncoming Legionnaires, but it would not last long on its own. Rex leapt into the fray with a bark, taking one of the men in the throat and downing him in a spray of blood.

"Take care of that." Carter snarled, pushing the Trooper towards the din with the barrel of his pistol before accessing the room's control panel. Even before the door was fully opened, the Courier rushed headlong into the room, tapping a few buttons on the console before inserting the override chip into the required port. Yes Man's smiling face immediately appeared on-screen.

"Hey! Nice to see you again!"

"Can the pleasantries, Smiley." Carter snapped. "I'm not in the mood. What are my options?"

"At your request, I can either reroute the dam's power to Mr. House's bunker at Fortification Hill or overload everything and make the dam completely unusable! It's all up to you!"

"I'll take the Securitron army, please and thank you."

Yes Man's face flickered briefly.

"Alright! Now all you have to do is flip the switch to the generators and the Securitrons will bust right out of that bunker and attack the Legion! Isn't teamwork great?"

"Hurry it up!" came Cass's voice from behind him, her sentence punctuated with shotgun fire.

"Yeah, it's fucking awesome." Carter agreed with the AI. "Now where's the switch?"

"It's in a generator room at the end of the corridor. I've already marked the location on your Pip-Boy, so just go flip that switch and everything will be all set!"

"Oh, you mean just fight our way through the seemingly endless fucking parade of Legion soldiers so we can flip the one goddamn switch that can provide energy to Fortification Hill?"

"Yup! That's all you have to do! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine. It's not like if you don't do this all our plans will have been for nothing. I'm sure we can work around it somehow. Good luck!"

Sometimes Carter really fucking hated that robot.

"How's it lookin, Cass?" he roared over the din as he sprinted back towards the entrance.

"Like a goddamn barbecue. Those Heavy Troopers are roasting them alive." she noted, as the sound of flames and screams floated around the bend. "But I'm guessing either they'll run out of fuel, or…"

"Run out of Legionnaires to grill." the Courier finished for her. At which point they might turn around and grill me. Not exactly the ideal situation.

Carter craned his neck outside, looking through the carnage for a way out. It didn't take him long to find. Directly across from the control room, a smaller, but similar-looking doorway. He didn't know where it went, but as long as it didn't go straight to hell, it didn't really matter.

"Cass! Across!" he yelled, pointing towards the door. "Get it open! I'll get the others."

Immediately, they set off about their tasks. Moving behind Boone, Carter tapped him twice on the shoulder, pointed two fingers at his own eyes, and then towards Cass and the door. It was Boone who had taught him the silent communication used by First Recon. At times like this, it proved invaluable. Unfortunately, Rex and ED-E responded only to verbal commands.

"Rex! Here, boy! ED-E! Command protocol: Follow!"

The familiar forms soon were soon visible around the corner, bounding and floating, respectively to his side. With the gang all here, Carter moved towards the open door, but kept his eyes down the corridor, waiting for his chance. The screams had ceased not all that long ago, and the Courier was guessing he had really pissed off that Ranger with his little speech. As it turned out his suspicions were soon confirmed as one of the Power Suit twins came stomping down the hall. Raising his pistol, Carter squeezed off a quick succession of rounds, aiming for the hose that connected tank to flamer nozzle. Whether he hit his mark or not the Courier would never know, as the flaming repartee shot down the hall. Carter pressed himself inside the doorframe, the heat from the flames threatening to cook him inside his armor.

"Cass! Dynamite!" he yelled, one hand outstretched for an explosive.

"Wha-?"

"Fucking now, Cass!" Carter roared as the heat intensified. His arm curled back towards his body, thinking better of his hastily assembled plan. "Just throw it!"

The Rose did as she was bid, hurling a stick of dynamite straight past Carter's face and into the hallway. Carter moved to slam the door, but the effect was instantaneous: the explosion threw the door wide open again. The Courier was sent hurtling through the air, flames licking at his exposed fingers as he was hurled bodily onto a steel table and crashed the floor. Overhead, objects floated and crashed all around him, a cacohpony of sound that sent his ears ringing and head spinning. Even after the tumult had finally died, Carter simply lay for a few moments, too stunned to even move.

"Fuck. Me." the Courier groaned, pushing an overturned chair off of his chest. World still twirling crazily, he gathered himself in an attempt to stand that just made everything else worse. He lurched drunkenly to the side, nearly falling back onto the floor as he called out names.

"Boone! Cass! Rex!"

His entire body felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. Even though his limbs seemed to be working just fine, it was difficult to stand, let alone walk. As he made to grab the wall, his fingers protested, crying out in pain. Carter recoiled immediately, fearing burns or worse.

"Shit!" he cried, shaking his hands in a vain attempt to stop the pain. "Where the fuck are you guys?"

"Here." Boone's steely tones from somewhere towards his right, just barely audible through his most likely perforated eardrums. Wedged between a collection of chairs and an overturned card table, the ex-sniper looked none-too-happy, his trusty hunting rifle several arm's lengths away. Placing his still-screaming hands under the table, Carter heaved it off of his friend, and was rewarded with stabs of pain in his right leg. With a pained gasp, he made a grab for his thigh, and was immediately met with the sensation of warm, oozing blood between his fingers.

"Goddammit. Must've been shrapnel." he mused, thinking back on the vendor's assurances that the armor was "100 % bulletproof". Of course, that wasn't exactly an unpopular claim amongst armor vendors. Back on his feet, Boone took a glance at the wound.

"You can walk. That's good."

"Yeah, until the adrenaline wears off. Get some Med-X and cloth. In my pack."

Boone complied, rifling around for a few moments in the Courier's bag before dropping the necessary medication into the Courier's hand.

"No cloth. Found a shirt, though."

"That'll do." the Courier assured him, grabbing the materials. "Keep a look out."

Carter jabbed the needle into his leg, grimacing slightly, before ripping the shirt into strips and tying them around the wound. The shirt was a bit grimy, but he would worry about that later.

"Alright. Let's find everyone else and get the fuck out of here."

"Don't bother." came a familiar voice, closely followed by the cocking of a shotgun.

"We found you already…." Cass drawled, leveling the shotgun at Carter's chest. For a brief moment, only stunned silence fell filled the small room. Then suddenly, the sound of Rex growling came, accompanied by ED-E's soft hum. They materialized as if from nowhere, on either side of Cass. She looked unperturbed.

Carter raised a hand slowly.

"Cass…. what the…"

"Shut up. I don't wanna hear you talkin unless it's to tell me what the hell that was back there. You told me we were here to fight Legion, and support the NCR. Instead, we're blowing them up. And you!"

She looked at Boone.

"1st fuckin Recon my ass. You really still goin along with this after that?"

Boone was, as usual, silent. But he didn't move. Carter took the opening.

"What the hell do you want from me, Cass?"

"A fucking explanation. And if it ain't satisfactory, I might just shoot you anyway."

"We're sitting ducks in this room!"

"So make it quick." Her tone let him know she was serious.

"Well, you heard the speech already." Carter began. "I'm liberating Vegas. No NCR. No Legion. Independence. It's gonna be a hell of a party."

"You lied to us, you prick. You know what the Republic means to us, to the Mojave, the good it could do….."

"Yeah." Carter breathed. "I know what it could do. And I know what it's done. And I'm not impressed."

Boone's grip on him tightened ominously. The Courier simply continued.

"Caesar's a despot and an egomaniacal, power-hungry asshole. I don't agree with him or his philosophies, but he was right about one thing: the NCR is weak, fragmented, and filled with people just as eager for power as him. There are some good people like Hanlon in a position to actually do something, but their own organization fucking hamstrings them. Better Vegas is left to its own devices. Maybe something good can come of it."

Cass was silent, but her gun did not waver.

"Both of you're either with me or against me. We've come this far together, but if this is the fucking tipping point, so be it. My mind's made up. Just remember that if you're gonna try and kill me, I have you outnumbered."

He extricated himself from Boone's grip, and began moving towards the door, his injured leg only half-bending as he walked. For what seemed like the eternity before he reached the door, Carter anticipated a gunshot in the back. None came.

Then Boone was beside him again. "We're with you. For this at least."

"Well la-di-fucking-da. Let's go press this switch." Carter retorted through gritted teeth, already hobbling towards the exit.

As luck, or perhaps coincidence, would have it, they encountered no more resistance on their way to the generator room. Rushing it, it took only a few moments for Carter to flip the switch on the wall, and send the machines sputtering into life as lights flooded the room, illuminating the dust-covered generators.

"So why the hell didn't the NCR turn these things on before? Couldn't have been because it was difficult."

"Must've been the Legionnaires waiting to tear them limb-from-limb." came Cass's anger-tinged voice from near the partially open door. Sudden gunshots clipped the end of her sentence. "Speaking of which…"

Carter sighed heavily. "Oh, of fuckin course. They're goddamn roaches."

"More like fish in a barrel." Boone breathed, sighting down his scope over Cass's shoulder. Two quick shots resulted in an equal number of deaths.

The Whiskey Rose flinched hard, ducking away from the sniper. "Can you not do that right in my fucking ear?"

"Move." Boone growled, his focus unbroken.

Cass complied, a hand to her ear as Carter set his non-human companions in motion with a few verbal commands. Opening the door wide as Boone reloaded, he loosed ED-E and Rex on their unfortunate victims.

Screams echoed down the hallway as he pulled Cass to her feet.

"Come on, you'll live."

"Yeah, as a fucking deaf person! He's out of his goddamn mind!"

"No, he just…. really REALLY doesn't like the Legion."

That was probably the understatement of the century.

"Boone, hang here and cover us for a bit. I'll wave you up when its clear. Come on, Cowgirl Deafie." Jackson said, pulling the still-recovering Cass along with him into the sound-filled corridor.

The pair pushed until they caught up with Rex and ED-E, squeezing off rounds at the Legion soldiers who continued to materialize in the confines of the dam.

"Can't wait to put these bastards down for good." Carter growled as they plunged ahead, forging towards the door to the surface. Bullets flew around them as Legion and NCR soldiers fought and killed and died. Carter shot indiscriminately, putting down any other being that dared to cross his path, regardless of uniform. The thoughtless slaughter opened a path, and Carter took his chance, sprinting back towards the control room and the door to the Dam's other side. Leaving the chaos of the dam's interior behind, it was strangely quiet as they emerged into the Wasteland, where night had fallen. The quiet was eerie, almost deafening after the horrific sounds below them. Panting softly, Carter paused, looking upwards towards Caesar's stronghold at Fortification Hill. Faintly, the familiar sounds of fighting could be heard. Explosions lit the night like a firework display. Here and there flames licked at the sky like thirsty tongues. The Securitrons were doing exactly what Yes Man had claimed they would. In a few more minutes, the Legion would be broken. Though a vague sense of disappointment hung over him, Carter relished the sight. After all the shit Caesar had tried to strongarm him into doing, it would have been nice to put the bullet in the dictator himself, and he knew that Boone shared his sentiments. Watching the hill burn would have to be satisfaction enough, but even that could not be done for long. Before him stood the gates to the Legion's advance camp, where the Legate himself had a tent and troops under his command.

Truthfully, Carter was surprised they hadn't already seen the Legate on the battlefield. With the way that the Legion and even Caesar himself deified the man, you would've thought Lanius would be unafraid to take point himself. But war, it seemed, showed the true colors of all men. Even Lanius was not eager to die, it seemed. Unfortunately for him, Carter no longer held such a fear. Getting shot in the head did that to a man.

"Thumbs down, you son of a bitch." Boone whispered next to him, the burning Legion camp reflected in his sunglasses. Even with the moon in the sky, he still wore the shades.

Cass was quieter, simply shifting her shotgun in hand. "Its almost over."

"So let's finish it."


	3. The Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Part 3

**The Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Part 3: To the Victor Go the Spoils (Or "History Does Not Remember the Vanquished")**

**Legate Lanius's Camp **

**July 19th, 2281 **

**20:21 p.m. **

Before him, the gates were already opened, no doubt to let out soldiers who had already gone to their doom. Carter charged ahead as quickly as his injured leg would allow, sheltering behind one of the open gate doors so he could observe the land: The entrance to the Legate's camp was only a few meters away. A solitary guard stood outside, seemingly unarmed. A simple nod to Boone was all it took to relieve the man of his life. Yet even as the sound of the gunshot lingered over the area, there was no rush of soldiers to investigate the noise, not even a second guard or a dog strayed outside the circle of the camp's walls. Nothing stirred. Strange. But still they pressed forward, Carter wary of some kind of trap. Before them seemed to be the main area of the camp, with a shallow pit set up for training, complete with dummies dressed in ragged NCR armor. Several had their heads cut off. Immediately surrounding the ring were a few tents, and some workbenches, and even more walls. Gaps in their faces led to even more tent-filled areas, with the largest such gap across from them, leading up a sloping cliff path to the largest tent of them all. If he had to take a guess, Carter ventured they would find the Legate there.

"Boone, see if you can find a place to set up. Try and keep eyes on us, but make sure to kill anything that moves."

"Right." The sniper moved away silently, snaking towards the left section of tents.

At Carter's feet, Rex was growling audibly. So they were here; just hiding.

"Go get 'em, Rex." The dog took off like a gunshot, breaking the silence with a bark.

Simultaneously, cries were thrown up from all directions.

"Caesar!"

"For the Legion!"

Carter dove to some semblance of cover in the pit just as the first bullets were fired. The screams of Rex's victims was music to his ears, but even the cyber-dog would not last long without support. An arm's length away, Cass was uncorking a bottle of whiskey.

"Weren't you putting all that behind you ten minutes ago?" The Rose took a long pull before answering.

"I said it didn't help dealin with my past. As for the present, well… figure we've got a good chance of dyin. Might as well do it with a bottle in hand."

Carter shook his head, but took the bottle when offered. Taking a long gulp of his own, he relished the slow burn as the alcohol trailed its way from mouth to throat to stomach, sitting for a moment in the center of his gut like a fireball. Then he grabbed for his carbine and started shooting, popping his head out of the pit as much as he dared to line up shots. They were coming from all sides: Rex was hemmed in by a group of five, dancing and snarling, his jaws already dripping with blood. From the direction of the Legate's tent, even more were coming down the path. Behind him, the familiar zap of ED-E's laser foretold enemies from behind, from the direction in which Boone had disappeared. The Courier emptied his clip into the crowd around Rex, not lingering to see whether he had hit his marks as he sank back down into the pit and grabbed for the explosives at his waist. Carterhad made sure to bring not only dynamite, but several grenades as well. Now, he ripped the pin out of one and lobbed towards the soldiers pouring in from the Legate's direction. Screams and the accompanying explosion gave him no reason for pause as he uncorked another, aiming in the same direction.

"Last clip Cass!" he yelled at the Rose, sliding the aforementioned cartridge into his All-American. She squeezed out two more rounds before slouching down next to him.

"Good. Cuz I'm all out. Good thing you gave me that magnum." she said, hoisting the aforementioned .357 revolver out of her holster.

"Just make sure you can use it." Carter replied, whipping his carbine back up.

"The hell do you think you're talkin too?" Cass yelled, taking down a charging Legionnaire with a swift headshot.

"Oh, right. I forgot you're the second coming of Annie fucking Oakley."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter. Keep shooting!"

And they did just that, until the Courier, too was reduced to his handgun, the All-American dangling uselessly on his back. With the Legion's onslaught beaten back,Carter could only hope that they had exterminated, or at the very least heavily demoralized what remained of the Legion soldiers. Holstering his sidearm, Carter rose out of the pit, battle-scarred and weary, but still breathing. From the direction of the Legate's camp, the distinctive, rhythmic beats of footsteps could be heard. Steps that seemed to rumble through the entirety of the camp itself as they approached the center. Through the red lenses, Carter could only just make out the outline of a heavily armored figure approaching through the decimated remains of his forces. Clad head-to-toe in armor, and standing a good foot or so above even the six-foot plus Courier, the man cut an imposing figure as he approached the group. In his left hand, he clutched a massive greatsword that was nearly as big as Cass, and thicker than Carter's leg. The mask that obscured the Legate's features was an ornate and intricate thing, carved in the image of some no-doubt long forgotten Roman god or other. The Legate came to a stop in front of his own gate, and merely stood for a few moments. Waiting.

"Cass…. stay here."

"Are you fuckin kidding?"

"Stay. Here. You too, Rex. ED-E. Command Protocol: Wait." The Courier's tone brooked no argument.

Cowed, the Rose simply collapsed into a seated position, Rex leaping to her side. Hesitantly, Carter took a step forward. And then another, dragging himself out of the pit to face the monster that stood before him. In the failing light, his Ranger helmet was quickly becoming more liability than asset, so he discarded it, tossing the thing to the side as he reached for his hip, slowly drawing the machete that had been sheathed there for just such a moment. His heart beat like thunder against his temples, drumming his own rising fear even further into his consciousness as he neared the Legate, half-limping along, his right fist closed in a death grip around the machete that looked more like a butter knife when compared to the Legate's weapon. From behind the mask, the man spoke with a powerful, rumbling voice.

"An envoy of Vegas. Yet you carry yourself for battle. If so, you cannot truly be of that city of cowards." Behind the mask, Carter's face betrayed nothing.

"Where's Caesar? Too much of a coward to lead his own troops?" If the Legate was perturbed by this, he did not show it.

"Caesar's will is the will of the Legion. And mine as well. The West exists only to test the will of the Legion."

"So what then? After you've conquered the West?"

"We will conquer all foes who oppose us. The entire Wasteland will be part of the Legion."

"So, you would just… conquer for the sake of conquering? What's the point in that?"

The Legate chuckled. "You need not see the point in it. Caesar tried to show you, and you spat in his face. Will you do what you have come here for or will you waste more time with words?"

Carter widened his stance, spreading his legs as he tilted the blade of the machete vertical.

"No. I'm ready. You know, that mask will make a great trophy to show when I tell people I killed you."

The Legate hefted his sword. His voice remained flat.

"We shall see how brave you are when nailed to the walls of Hoover Dam, your body facing west so you may watch your world die."

He moved like a blur. Such quickness for so large a man nearly meant Carter's death as the Legate whipped his massive blade at the Courier's torso. Perhaps it was a lucky thing in this case that the man was so tall, as Carter somehow managed to drop underneath the blade as it cleaved the air above him, causing a wind that stunned him briefly, causing to stumble on his injured leg. That was all the opening the Legate needed, landing a crushing blow to Carter's chest with his armored fist. Even with the whiskey coursing through his veins, the Courier felt the pain immediately as he was thrown backwards, and onto the ground. His unprotected head crashed heavily against the ground, nearly knocking him unconscious. Through the haze, he knew only the pain in his ribs as he clutched his chest, scrabbling to get away as the Legate approached, the sound of his footsteps drawing closer with each passing second. Rex's familiar bark lanced through the area, as the dog pounced. As his head cleared, he saw the Legate knock away the canine with a sweeping fist, his approach undeterred even as Cass started firing her pistol. The bullets bounced off the Legate's armor like rocks; he paid no more attention to them than a fly and did not even look at Cass as she rushed out of the pit, hatchet in hand. A swift backhand dispatched her to the ground with a cracking sound that made Carter fear for her life.

"Cass!" he breathed, unable to muster much more with what felt like at least a couple of broken ribs.

Struggling to his feet, he was up by the time the Legate swung at him once again, darting to the side of the man's overhand stroke. Carter stabbed towards the Legate's throat, trying to find a gap or weakness in the armor. He was met instead with the metallic clang of futility as his opponent turned just enough to ward the blow. A pulling slash met the same fate as the Legate slammed the flat of his blade into the Courier's injured leg, causing a sharp cry of pain and throwing Carter painfully once again onto his back, his knee screaming in pain. Carter brought up his machete in a sideways arc, gritting his teeth through the pain. The awkward swing found purchase in a weak point of the Legate's armor, eliciting a grunt from the man. It was a small bit of luck, but it did not slow Lanius in the slightest, as he knocked the machete from Carter's hands with a kick, and slammed his other foot down on Carter's doubly injured right leg. The Courier howled in pain as the Legate raised his sword above his head.

"I expected better from one so bold."

"Ugh…. so did I…. honestly." Carter replied, cheeky to the bitter end. The Courier reached to his waist, hooking the pin of his final grenade on his thumb.

"But I've still got a few tricks. I'll spare you the threats and assume you know what happens if you move an inch."

"You think your threats scare me, boy?" the Legate growled. "I've stared death in the face more times than you have lived days in your life."

"And yet you're stalling instead of killing me."

"If you wished for me to kill a coward such as yourself, you had only to ask." the man responded, his muscles straining back farther in anticipation of the killing blow. Carter flinched, preparing to pull the pin on his grenade. The thunder of gunfire caused him to pause. Above him the Legate snarled, a visible dent imprinted on his mask near the temple as he staggered away from the shot. Carter did not stop to thank his lucky stars for Boone's impeccable timing, simply reached towards his freed leg, fingers closing fast around his 10 mm. The movement caused his body to scream in pain yet again, the sensation notably more intense. It seemed the Med-X was wearing off. Another gunshot clanged violently off his helmet sent the Legate reeling yet again.

"You fight like a coward, Courier. Having your cohorts hide and try to kill me from afar." His voice was raised, but still quite calm, quite different from a man who should have two bullets in his brain.

Judging by the thickness of the helmet and armor overall, Carter could only assume Boone's hunting rifle wasn't powerful enough to punch clean through. The bullets were being deflected, either only grazing the unprotected flesh beneath or bouncing off entirely. Shit. 10 mm in hand, Carter now tried to bring himself to his feet, ignoring the rising pain his leg as he pulled himself upright. His entire body ached from the force of the Legate's blows; he had no doubt his leg was terribly injured. At best, a ligament was torn. At worst the bones were powder. Thankfully, Boone's shots were enough to deter the Legate from rushing him again. But once he stopped to reload, it would be a different story entirely. Carter hopped once, placing most of his weight on his left leg. He made himself as upright as possible.

"Ah, he's a sniper. It's just….how he was trained."

Even breathing hurt. And then Carter was suddenly aware of the silence. Either Boone was reloading or out of ammunition. Either way it wasn't good for him. The Legate kicked Carter's machete to the Courier's feet, a cloud of dust rising.

"Let us finish this. I would rather kill an armed man, in spite of your cowardice."

"How generous, but I'll pass." Carter managed, taking only a cursory glance at the machete on the ground. He had never been much good with melee weapons anyway.

"Then you will only die more swiftly." The subtle shift in his massive body betrayed the Legate, as he brought his sword in a whistling arc down towards Jackson's head from the left, trying to force him to move in the direction of his wounded leg. Unperturbed, the Courier held his ground, anticipating the moment to make his move.

_Just like Ranger Andy taught you…_

With a twist to the side, the Courier put the Legate right where he wanted him. The sword crashed into the ground to his right, throwing up a cloud of dust around the combatants that went completely ignored. Immediately, Carter's right arm curled around the wrist of the Legate's sword hand, trapping it in the crook of his elbow as he swept his uninjured leg towards the larger man's knees, simultaneously throwing his left arm out across the man's chest, attempting to pull the man completely off-balance. His crippled leg did not touch the ground until the Legate toppled with a grunt, taken completely off-guard by the Courier's takedown. Immediately, his massive paws flew to the Courier's arm, trying to pry it from around his neck, where Carter's arm had settled in a clumsy attempt at a chokehold. The Courier braced as the full weight of the Legate crashed down on his left leg, possibly breaking it as well. With the adrenaline flowing through his veins, the pain barely registered as he tried to maintain his hold on the Legate. The Courier was acutely aware he would not be able to hold the man. His superior strength was beginning to shine through, as his scrabbling and wriggling slowly but surely loosened Carter's hold. Pinned between the Legate's chestplate and right arm, Carter's pistol was useless, pointing towards the ground. Struggling as mightily as the Legate, he freed it with one final pull as his hold on the larger man finally broke. The Legate might have been fast, but Carter was faster. Even as a mailed arm slammed down on his ribs, Carter pulled the pistol up and fired. As the arm rose up again, Carter did not stop. Two more times the arm slammed down, even after the Courier had emptied his clip into the massive man's head, but each new hit was weaker, though no less agonizing against ribs that absolutely HAD be broken at this point. Finally, the Legate's body fell limply into death, the arm slamming flaccidly against the Courier's body one final time as the Legate's blood began to pool near Carter's prone, but still breathing figure.

"Ah, fuck." the Courier coughed, pain lancing through him."I haven't been this glad to kill somebody since that prick Benny."

Of course, the checker-suited Chairman had put up FAR less of a fight than the now-deceased Legate. The Courier stared up at the stars, blood seeping into the fabric of his armor. He could see stars in the sky, though he wondered how many were actually there. His body had been run over by a Securitron. If breathing had been difficult before, it was nearly impossible now. Still Carter clawed his way from beneath the Legate's body, pushing the dead weight away from his good leg, scooting to get as far away from the quickly-spreading blood as possible. The movements were agony, causing him to collapse again only a few precious inches away, clutching his chest yet again.

_Heh. Guess this isn't the worst way to die…. View's nice._

The night sky was beautiful, millions of stars dangling in the night sky like fireflies. The full moon bathed the battle-scarred ground in soft, radiant light. From somewhere far away, explosions sounded and the Earth shook. Suddenly, Carter's view was obstructed. A dark figure in between him and the nighttime sky.

"If you're gonna kill me, just do it. Promise I won't try any funny business."

"Seems like he took care of that for me." came the gravelly response. Boone. The sniper crouched in the dirt next to the Courier, his features coming very suddenly into focus. Bruises and few shallow cuts littered the sniper's normally stony face. A crack lanced through one of the lenses of his trademark sunglasses. His customary white shirt was stained with equal parts fresh blood and dirt. He appeared to be cradling his side.

"Ha… ah… fuck. Boone. No more jokes. I don't even have the minimum number of ribs to laugh with." The Courier stretched out a hand, and with Boone's help was eventually standing upright on his less-injured left leg. His arm draped over Boone's shoulders, the pair was soon able to move, despite the audible protests from Carter.

"How's Cass? And Rex?" he gritted out between his teeth.

"Dunno. Didn't check." the sniper admitted as they moved towards the ditch. At the edge, Cass's hat lay on its side in the dirt, a telltale stain gracing the inner brim. Boone collected it with the muzzle of his rifle. It's owner was not more than a few feet away, crumpled into a heap, her pistol nowhere to be seen. On her temple, a large gash oozed blood onto the ground.

"Just had to be a fuckin cowgirl…." the Courier muttered, looking down on the unconscious redhead. Nearby, ED-E floated silently, awaiting orders. Soft footfalls from behind announced Rex's arrival. With a whimper, the dog nosed around Cass briefly before returning towards the Courier. Thankfully, the cyberdog looked roughly the same, with only a few new scratches on his chassis. The bark he gave the Courier sounded almost mournful as he settled near Carter's feet. Liberated from Boone, Carter sat on the lip of the ditch as Boone attempted to tend to the Whiskey Rose without causing any further damage.

"How is she?" Carter asked, concern clear in his voice.

"Don't know. Was never very good at first aid." the sniper responded, something the blood dripping from his t-shirt could attest to. Boone was becoming more pale by the minute.

"Well, you should wrap up that wound on your chest for starters." Carter noted.

"Looks like Cass is knocked out. Probably concussed, too. Which isn't good. Could be some brain damage. You got a Stimpack?" Now seated on the ground, Boone was tearing the clean parts of his shirt to make a bandage.

"No."

"What, am I just a Stimpack mule?" Carter retorted. "None of you ever carry any. Even Arcade. And he's supposed to be a fucking doctor. Look in my ba-"

A sudden explosion ripped through his sentence. Instinctively, Jackson threw himself forward and facedown into the ditch, letting the debris and noise wash over him. The pain at such movement was excruciating, but the Courier bit his lip and dealt with it as he remained facedown. When it had fallen silent, the Courier pulled himself to his feet, doing his best to block out the screaming pain that accompanied every movement. An arm's length away, Boone had hastily wrapped his bandage around his wound, and was crouched low, hunting rifle in hand as he looked through the smoke towards the now-destroyed camp gate. Through the haze, six figures strode into the camp, boots crunching over the sandy soil. Five of them were masked and armored, clothed in the signature armor of the NCR's desert rangers. The elite of the elite, all in masks that matched Carter's and toting carbines to boot. In their midst was a shorter, middle-aged man with a lined face that Carter had never seen before, but he had heard enough stories to know exactly whom he was looking at.

"General Lee Oliver, I presume?" He was certainly dressed like a general, clad in a tan suit that screamed pre-war fashion. The cap on his head was embossed with the NCR's sigil of a two-headed bear and numerous stars in gold. It was clear he was trying to look impressive, but Carter was relatively unfazed by the man's appearance.

"Caesar on the cross." the General began. "Been a long time since I've seen the kind of work you laid down today…. a damn long time. And the screams of those Legion bastards as they kicked dirt running East…. like music to my ears. And speaking of- what was that crazy lightshow over the Fort, some kind of thumb of God you called down? Amazing, fucking amazing."

If nothing else, the General certainly liked to hear himself talk. And Carter was inclined to let him. Even the simple act of speaking was starting to cause him pain. No doubt he had many more injuries than the ones to his ribs and legs. He didn't even know how much longer he would remain conscious.

"Could use a hundred of you, just scatter you over the East like jacks, give those plumed fucks the what-for." The General smiled, the joy on his face at the slaughter clear. His head swiveled approvingly around the camp, taking in the corpses of the Legion that Carter and his group had slain. Sweeping his eyes back over the Courier's assembled group, his veneer shifted suddenly as he noticed the state of Courier and his compatriots.

"Are you…"

The Courier cut him off. "Shut up. My turn. And if you think all the shit you saw before was cool, you won't believe what happens next."

From behind the General, a loud rumbling came as the Securitron army Carter had called up from the bunker came pouring down from the fort, a large cloud of dust trailing them as their wheels spun, carrying them to crowd into the entrance to the decimated Legate's camp. There were so many that one couldn't even see the path back to the Dam. Crowded together so closely, the Securitrons were an impenetrable wall of steel. They remained in place, just outside, weapons trained on the small assemblage of NCR soldiers. On the foremost Securitron's screen, Yes Man's smiling face was present. The General's face contorted again, flashing a nervous grin at the Courier as the hand that had been straying toward his jacket pocket stopped suddenly.

"And uh… well. These uh… these boys with you? Hello there, smiley. Guess it ain't no secret how you, uh…. say, can you ask them to put their weapons down? I was just reaching into my pocket to get a cigar."

Now it was Carter's turn to smile.

"Sorry, but this is now officially a non-smoking area. The Legion's not the only army that lost today: you and the NCR did too. Now get the fuck off my dam."

The General's face turned to an ugly sneer immediately.

"I would sooner spit on the grave of my dead mother than let some courier-walk-the-wasteland fuck talk to me like that." Carter's scowl surpassed even the General's own. Hopping painfully up out of the ditch, he approached the man slowly, ignoring the pain as he dragged his beaten body to look directly in the General's face, anger raging in his gut.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Looking to cash your chips to NCR bullets, eh? Well, I can oblige." The Courier's fist met the General's stomach so swiftly, he was on the ground before his Ranger companions even realized what had happened. A surprised groan was the only sound that escaped the man's lips as he clutched his abdomen.

"Sadly, I wasted my good 'fuck you' speech on one of your lackeys, so I'll keep this simple: you better get really well hydrated cuz you're gonna be fucking drooling on your mother's grave you piece of shit. I'm the guy who fucked the Legion AND the NCR. I'm the new leader of Vegas, and I'm the guy who holds the Hoover Dam. But in case you're still convinced you're in charge here, I'll be merciful and give you a choice: stand up and leave on your feet, or leave wrapped in your flag." The General gathered himself slowly, words trailing from his mouth as he pulled himself out of the dirt. A small trickle of blood rolled out of his mouth.

"Look. I know you're riding high right now, but let me tell you…." He spat blood from his mouth, finally straightened back up to look the Courier in the eye. "You're not pissing on me. You're pissing on the Bear."

Carter had had enough of this game. He drew his 10mm, leveling it directly at the General's head. The Courier had no more bullets left in the gun, but General Assface had no way of knowing that particular fact.

"I'm done listening to your blustering bullshit. Either you're gonna retaliate or you're going to leave. Pick one so I can get on with my day."

The General nodded once, gravely.

"I came here looking for a fight. So let me tell you, you better have a damn good left hook or I'm not going down."

"I don't need left hooks, dumbass: I have Securitrons. Yes Man, fry this asshole. And then throw his dead body off the dam. Leave the Ranger armor intact. We can use it."

The Securitrons needed no second urging. Almost immediately, the air was filled with the sound of lasers burning through the air. The Rangers, to their credit, managed to squeeze off several rounds before they all fell, but it was too little too late. Sheer numbers overwhelmed them quickly, but their leader was even more brazen, drawing his magnum on the Courier, even as Carter's own pistol was leveled between his eyes. The Courier dove aside and to the ground, causing familiar pain to shoot through his body. The magnum shot ripped through the empty air as lasers shredded through the General's body, causing screams that were cut short as the shots continued to pile on. In the aftermath, the General's corpse was unrecognizable: burnt to a crisp, shriveled, and barely recognizable as the man he had once been. As he returned shakily to his feet, Carter spat at the body, eliciting a soft hiss from the smoking ruins of the General's body.

"At least the Legate seemed respectable…."

The familiar sound of a Securitron rumbling towards him brought Carter's attention to Yes Man, his smiling face almost welcome again after the ordeal they had just been through.

"You did a super job wrapping things up! And I'm not just saying that because I have to!"

"Uh…. thanks?" Carter attempted by way of reply. At this point all he really wanted to do was sit down. Or maybe lie down. For a few days.

"I didn't want to make a big deal about this until we won, but, well…"

"What is it, Yes Man? I am in NO mood for any more bullshit."

"I found some code snippets in one of Mr. House's databanks that will let me, um, reprogram my personality. To be a little more assertive, basically!"

"Oh. Yipppee!" Carter celebrated sarcastically, twirling his hand in a mock-joyous fashion.

"So that's what I'm going to be doing, and it's going to take me a while, so it'll seem like I'm offline. But don't worry, everything will be okay!"

"If you say so…" the Courier muttered gruffly. Honestly, he didn't want to hear any more about this. Yes Man's personality changes were something that could be discussed after he'd had some sleep. And about fifty Med-X's.

"I've updated the Securitrons' targeting parameters, so they know what to do. Vegas will be protected!" Carter snorted.

"It better fuckin be. After all we went through to take it over."

Yes Man, it seemed, chose to ignore the comment.

"So that's where I'll be, off making a few changes, and I….I guess I'll see you around!"

"That sounds really…. final. Are you sure you're just updating your personality and not your memory or something?"

"Of course! My memory will remain mostly intact! Don't worry, it'll be fine. Maybe I'll see you when I wake up!" As the robot wheeled away, the Courier couldn't help but feel that there was something Yes Man wasn't telling him.

For now, he would let it go, but once the AI came back online, they were going to have a nice, long conversation. But first, sleep. And about seventy-five Stimpaks to go with the Med-X. The sound of labored movements behind him caused Jackson to turn and see Boone, carrying Cass draped piggyback across his back. Behind him, Rex moved quietly with ED-E floating silently behind. She still hadn't woken up yet. Carter turned quickly to one of the Securitrons, the sudden movement causing a sudden bout of lightheadedness.

"Find Arcade Gannon, and tell him to meet us at the Lucky 38."

"Yes, sir." the robot rolled away. The lightheadedness had not ceased. All the fatigue, blood loss, and assorted other damage from the battle had finally collapsed on Carter like a ton of bricks. His vision swam; suddenly the Courier was very sleepy.

"Also... one of ...you take ...me to the... Lucky….38…"

And then the Courier's world went black.

* * *

**Intro accomplished. Next time, the real story begins. **


	4. Under New Management

_To address a question posed on the previous chapter, yes this chapter will be sort of pseudo-review of most of the important things that happen at the end of New Vegas. The more minor stuff will probably get mentioned in passing throughout the story. If something is not mentioned or omitted, either I didn't do it in-game, or I don't address it in this story. Or I forgot about. Lol._

_As of now, I do not plan on doing the add-ons in addition to the main story. That could change, or could become a separate story on its own since I haven't finished all the add-on content myself. So anyways, in this chapter I try to give a sense of where the story is headed, so if everything seems a bit forced/contrived, forgive me. But do enjoy. Finally, thanks to GrayAngel13 for my first review. Keep 'em coming._

**Under New Management **

**July 23rd, 2281 **

**Lucky 38 Presidential Suite **

**15:46 p.m. **

"Ugh…."

Everything hurt. Chest, legs, arms, and especially his head. The familiar throbbing in his temple was back, a permanent gift from Benny's pistol, Maria, and it was focal point of the pain that regularly pounded through his temple. Instinctively, the Courier reached a hand to the place where Doc Mitchell had sewn his head back together, fingers probing almost as if looking for the hole again. He was met instead with the familiar feel of scar tissue and stitches.

_'The game was rigged from the start…" _

_Silence. The Courier's heart fluttered in panic. And suddenly….. BANG! _

_A blinding flash followed by complete darkness. _

"Bastard…" Carter muttered, still cradling his head as he attempted to adjust to the artificial light beating down on him from overhead.

A quick glance around the room showed him that he was back in his room at the Presidential Suite at the Lucky 38. Next to his bed sat a medical tray with a few supplies on it, along with an IV hook that seemed to be feeding into his left hand. Next to the tray of supplies sat an Auto-Doc, the green screen glowing as the machine hummed along beside him, Carter's only companion in the silent room. The presidential suite remained the same as it always had: red wallpaper encompassed the four walls of the ornate (by Wasteland standards) room. To the left, a desk and two dressers stood by, mirroring the two dressers across from them. Along the right wall, a weapons trunk also sat at foot level, the metallic plating glinting in the light. Near the door, another desk sat in the corner, its surface empty save for a few yellowed papers. Gingerly, the Courier pushed himself from the bed, immediately aware of the constricting bandages that encompassed not only his arms and legs, but his torso as well. It seemed that his head was the only thing that remained unbound.

Slowly, he pushed the covers of the bed away from him, testing the extent of his injuries and how far his healing had progressed. Expertly, he slid the IV from his arm and hobbled towards the door, each step causing some new ache or pain to surface. Where the hell is everyone? , the Courier wondered, as he threw open the door to his room and staggered out into the entrance area. Though brightly lit, it, too, was empty and as eerily quiet as his own room. Sudden footsteps from his right snapped Carter's attention to one of the side rooms, eyes fixed until he finally saw a familiar figure emerge from the doorway. Behind his eyeglasses, he could swear the fair-skinned man was smiling, or at the very least happy to see him walking around, but Arcade wasn't overly expressive.

"Finally awake, I see. Although you probably shouldn't be walking around just yet. Most of your wounds are still in the early stages of healing."

"Good to see you too, Arcade." Carter responded, offering a handshake to the blonde man.

It seemed the war had not changed him much. He still worse the same lab coat and pants, bore the same neutral and often bored-looking expression. There were no scars and only some bandages on the scientist's right hand.

"How long was I out?"

"About four days. Lucky for you, I was able to get the Followers to part with one of their Auto-Docs for a little while. The Securitron that came to get me was certainly surprising as well, but I'm afraid I must insist you get back in bed. Or at least sit down. You were in pretty bad shape when that other robot dragged you in here."

Carter was only too happy to accept Arcade's offer as the two men retreated into the adjoining room, and seated themselves facing each other.

"So what was the damage? I still feel like shit."

"Piece of shrapnel lodged into a largely broken left leg, along with a few torn ligaments, but nothing major. Six broken ribs and a whole lot of bruising in your chest. A few more pieces of shrapnel lodged here and there, some minor burns on your hands, some shallow cuts, and no doubt some other lasting physical or mental trauma I couldn't find. Must've used twelve Stimpaks on you alone, and who knows what else. Actually, I'm surprised someone who puts their body through so much crap is still alive."

"Yeah, well, you know… war is hell. Sounds like you did a hell of a job for a researcher."

Arcade smirked. "I may have called in some assistance from the Follower camp. But things aren't looking too great there. Now that you're awake and seem to be no worse off, I should probably head back there to help out."

"What's going on?"

Having established a supply line for the camp and aided Julie in obtaining meds and chems, Carter was more than a little invested in the Old Mormon Fort. Arcade sighed, leaning forwards in his chair. Concern, or rather, more concern fell across his face.

"With everything we've done, and the war….. the Wasteland's even more hellish than it was…" he laughed nervously. "Somehow. We've got even more people streaming into the fort now. With the NCR gone, there's nowhere else for them to go. Even with all we did….." he paused and looked Carter right in the eyes. "I really don't think the Followers can keep up." "

Is there anything we can do?"

Arcade shook his head. "I don't think so. I would ask you to help, but it would barely make a difference. Even with the supply chain you set up at the Wrangler, we don't have enough materials coming in. The Fort is understaffed, undersupplied, and overcrowded. There just aren't enough doctors in the Wasteland."

"What about NCR doctors?" Carter suggested.

"Most of them withdrew after the Battle. I'm sure there are still some out there who care enough about helping others to stick around, but they'll go where they're protected, not necessarily where they're needed."

"Fuckin cowards."

The doctor shrugged.

"Can't blame them, really. I know my way around an energy weapon, but I never would have joined up with you if I didn't think you could handle yourself."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence." Carter growled, mulling in his head a way to solve the Followers' problems. The Old Mormon Fort serviced such a densely populated region of the Wasteland it would be damn near impossible to maintain control over Vegas without it. Something would have to be done unless he wanted Freeside to collapse.

"Guess I'm goin looking for doctors then. Such a shame you won't be joining me, Gannon." the Courier smirked.

The scientist returned the smile as he rose to his feet.

"As much as I would love to join up on another one of your ill-planned death trips, the situation at the Fort is very serious. Even if we had enough doctors, we still need drugs and other medicine necessary to treat our patients."

Carter waved off Arcade's concerns as if they were annoying flies.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm used to this kind of shit. You should know; you were there for some of it."

"It needs to happen soon, Carter. We might not make it another week at this rate."

The Courier seemed unperturbed. "Don't worry about it. Or me. I'll get what you need."

Arcade gave a small smile and rose to his feet. "Oh, I don't doubt it. But for now, I really must get back there."

Carter put up a hand, wincing at the pain it caused. "Hold on, Doc. Is there anyone else around from our merry band of misfits?"

The doctor stopped in his tracks, thinking briefly.

"Yeah, I think I saw Raul fiddling around with one of the Securitrons downstairs. And I'm sure ED-E's floating around here somewhere. Thing never seems to leave your side. Shame you didn't let the Followers examine it."

"Keep it in your pants, Gannon. Anyone else?"

"Nope. Sorry. Seems like the band broke up." Even as Arcade's words reached him, Carter felt a heaviness settle in his stomach. He had always known that the various companions he had gathered on his travels would eventually go their separate ways, but the suddenness of it all was surprising. None of them had even waited around to say goodbye.

"Cass and Boone were pretty badly wounded after the battle. Did you treat them?"

"Not personally, no. Julie assisted me, and treated those two mostly on her own. You were the worst off out of the three, so we collaborated on your treatment. Cass woke up after we stuck her with a couple of Stimpaks. After a few hours, she was gone. Along with a few bottles of whiskey, of course. Boone at least stuck around until we told him he was fully healed, but I haven't seen him here since then. Veronica…."

"Went back to the Brotherhood. I know. I told her to do it."

"Yeah. And the King came by asking for Rex a few days ago. I couldn't turn him away after all the Kings have done to stabilize Freeside. Plus you could hear Rex whining from the Strip."

A heavy silence followed.

"And now I'm left here wondering if I made the right choice." he looked up at Arcade.

"You know Cass threatened to kill me at the Dam. And I think she was actually serious."

Arcade smirked. "She always was rather… short-sighted, as her proposed solution to the Van Graff and McLafferty problem illustrated. Boone was similarly one-track minded in seeking vengeance for his wife. He held his own grudge against the Legion, and saw the NCR as the only organization capable of doing anything about them. To be fair, he was right. Until you came along."

"What a flatterer."

"Well, I do try. But what I'm getting at is that it's far too early to tell if you made a good decision. I admit that the NCR had its flaws, but aiding them would have brought a great deal of stability to the region. House had vision, and a great deal of resources to put towards that vision. And despite my feelings towards them, the Legion admittedly had a much more functional system of governance than the NCR. Between those three and leaving Vegas to its own devices, you made what you thought was the optimal decision. I believe I told you before that I, at least, think you made the right one. Of course, we could all be dead a month from now. Half of Freeside's already trying."

That elicited a few pained laughs from the Courier. "Dammit, Arcade." he gasped, grabbing his ribs. "You know I shouldn't be laughing this hard."

"And you wouldn't be if you had stayed in bed like I told you. But then again, that wouldn't be very much like you at all."

"It's like we were meant to be together, Arcade. You know me better than I know myself."

"Please. Even if I knew you weren't teasing, I can do better than a Mojave Express Courier."

"Hey, you've stayed single this long…."

"...And it seems I am doomed to stay that way." He looked pointedly at the Courier. "But if you do need me…"

Carter shook his head. "No. You're of more use to the Wasteland than to me, but, uh… send Raul up when you get to the bottom floor."

"I will." Arcade promised, as he stood to leave. "Also, you'll get better faster if you stay in bed like I told you. Just a suggestion." And with that final sentiment, the scientist disappeared behind the Lucky 38's grey elevator doors.

* * *

**Lucky 38 Penthouse**

**16:18 p.m.**

The Lucky 38's penthouse was deathly quiet; Carter's footsteps were the only sound that echoed through the room as he strode across the metal balcony and down the stairs to the giant computer terminal that was the hub of the Lucky 38's mainframe. Even after disconnecting House from the mainframe, Carter had never liked coming up here. It was always so very quiet and disconcerting. Even with the people and lights of the Strip glittering below, the place had always felt so devoid of life. No other sounds could be heard, and he rarely brought any of his companions up here either. So perhaps, in a way, he had no one to blame but himself for the apprehension he felt upon entering the room, but even after getting rid of House and his rules, it had always felt strange to bring another being with him to the penthouse, even if it did creep him out a bit. This was a place where he could be alone. At least whenever he wanted to be. But now was not one of those times. Carter had never realized just how much he had come to rely on the constant presence of his peers until now, when they had all disappeared. Even Yes Man was gone, disabled while he upgraded or whatever else. As Carter looked up at the blank monitor, melancholy settled over him. He knew there were many things left to be done in the Wasteland, yet he had never felt so directionless.

Dressed in a (relatively) fresh white t-shirt, cargo pants, and boots, he settled in front of the terminal with arms stretched wide, content to just stand there for a while, and reflect on what Arcade had told him. Without the Followers, Freeside would destabilize far too quickly, threatening the Strip and the surrounding area. Carter would not let that happen. After all, it would be bad for business. Not to mention he couldn't just leave Arcade hanging. Still, he couldn't simply create doctors for the Fort. They had to be found somewhere. An unexpected beeping from the console drew Carter's attention to the screen. The giant monitor flashed white as Yes Man's familiar face appeared onscreen, the computer terminal humming to life, filling the penthouse with a low electronic hum.

"Oh, hi!" the AI called out to the courier. His voice and tone sounded largely unchanged.

"I take it your update's finished?" Carter queried, looking steadily up at the screen. Though he would never admit it, it was comforting to hear Yes Man's voice again.

"Yup! One hundred percent complete. And I also found a whole bunch of other neat information in Mr. House's databanks. Did you know he has a satellite network?"

"Can't say that I did."

"Well, you do now, and I can use it, too! I'm sure it'll be able to give us some neat new capabilities! Apparently, he used it to divert some of the bombs aimed at Vegas during the Great War!"

"That's fascinating and all, but it looks like we're gonna have a lot of work ahead of us with this whole independent Vegas thing. Do you know what House wanted to do with the Lucky 38? Or with the Strip as a whole?"

"Well, we've already done what he wanted: liberate Vegas from the Legion and the NCR so that Vegas could stand on its own. With the power from the Hoover Dam, we have the capability to supply even more power to the Strip and surrounding areas and control all the Securitrons! Isn't that neat?"

"Yeah…. real neat." Carter agreed. "You know, you don't seem all that different Yes Man. Did that update really change anything?"

"Well… for you, no. But if anyone else tries to use me, I'll be able to get pretty nasty with them. Even say some bad words. But you and I are pals! After all, I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you!"

That much, at least, was comforting.

"All right. Well, can you use those fancy satellites to see what's happening in the Mojave?"

"Sure! Once I get them all calibrated, that is! Should only take a couple more days! In the meantime, though, I can tell you all about what the Securitrons' audio recorders picked up from travelers on the Strip! It'll be fun!"

"Get to it, then." Carter ordered.

"Ok! Well, for starters, there have been a lot more people coming and going from the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside. With the NCR gone, the Followers are the only doctors around! We should probably help them if we want Freeside to remain peaceful."

"Yeah, Arcade told me all about it." Carter agreed. "Any suggestions?"

"Well, the Followers need two things: more doctors and a way to make more medicine. Do you know any good doctors?"

"A couple. But I don't know if they'd be willing to help. Or if they'd even make a difference."

"The more the merrier! Besides, if we don't help them, the Fort will probably be forced to close down soon. And that would be bad."

"Yeah….. maybe I can ask the King for help. As for drugs, I may have an idea."

"Great! Just let me know when you take care of all that, then, and we never have to talk about it again. Now, then. Outside of Freeside…. oh! Here's a good one! It seems the Fiends have taken over Camp McCarran!"

Carter snorted. "That was opportunistic. Surprised they got sober long enough to organize an attack."

Yes Man continued. "Apparently, there's an NCR survivor from the attack taking refuge at Gomorrah. He shouldn't be too hard to find."

"If he still dresses in their colors, you mean. Kings'll probably kill any NCR on sight now. And I can't exactly take a soft stance after what happened at the dam. Still, Fiends are troublesome bastards. Having them in McCarran's a little too close to the Strip for my liking."

"Well, you just let me know when you deal with them! I'm sure there's a way we could use McCarran for something cool!"

"Anything else?"

"You bet! A lot of travelers from the I-15 have seen what looks like Brotherhood of Steel members wandering around Helios One. A few have even been harassed or killed for carrying energy weapons."

Carter's face fell. "Ah, Hardin…."

Sometimes he wondered if he had made the right decision in helping to oust McNamara as the Brotherhood's Elder. Though he wished for them to prosper, their single-minded focus on controlling technology would eventually spell doom for them in their forays into the Wasteland. Veronica had told him as much before she left, but Carter had believed Hardin smart enough to adapt. Clearly, he had been wrong.

"I'll have to go talk to them."

"Sure! You just do that whenever you feel like it! Ok! Only two more things left! First of all, there've been some rumors floating around that the remains of the NCR troops are massing at Camp Golf! Some patrons at the Ultra-Luxe were overheard talking about it. Even if the NCR isn't there, it seems like something is happening in the area. And the second thing is reports from travelers near the outskirts of Vegas. There have been several accounts of some heavily armed bandits attacking travelers near the northern part of the I-15. Maybe you can do something about that!"

"Story of my fuckin life. Always doing shit for other people."

"Hey now, it's not so bad. And once all that stuff's taken care of, we'll be able to open up the Lucky 38 again! Isn't that great?"

Carter was taken aback. "Open up the casino? Was that House's plan all along?"

There was almost hesitation in Yes Man's voice."Well… eventually, sure. He was just waiting until Vegas was safe enough to do it! Now that you've gotten rid of the Legion and the NCR, all that's left is to make the area stable! Or at least as close to it as possible! Mr. House had all kinds of ideas for the grand reopening! But he wanted to be able to bring in as many people as possible."

"I'm starting to think I made a mistake killing that decrepit bastard. He probably could have done all this for me."

Yes Man, as usual, was much more optimistic.

"Hey now! We can do this! I'll get things set up here at the Casino, you just go out there and take care of those other things I told you about! It'll be great! But if you have other things to do, I understand. There's no rush; we have literally all the time in the world!"

"Yeah, until all the people I've screwed come to collect. The Legion and the NCR won't be content with just leaving the Mojave alone. They'll come back once they're done licking their wounds."

"Don't worry! We have the Securitron army!"

Carter gave a short laugh. "Yeah. I guess. Anything else going on in the Mojave?"

"Well, as you can imagine, killing Alice McLafferty and the Van Graffs has really slowed down the energy weapons trade. And trade overall. The Gun Runners are still doing fine, but most others are having difficulty getting items they need. Without leadership the Mojave branch of the Crimson Caravan Company may go under."

"So of course it's my job to save them."

"Well, the Crimson Caravan is still heavily tied to the NCR in the West. If you don't want to help them, you could also consider starting a new company altogether. You know, one that services the Mojave. That we control!"

Carter considered that. "It'll take some investment. And the leftovers from McLafferty's regime might not take too kindly to it, but the infrastructure's already in place. Seems almost easy compared to some of the other shit I've done out here. So I have to talk to Blake, too. Great."

"Also, If you don't mind my asking, should you REALLY be doing anything right now?"

Carter smirked. "I didn't know you cared, Yes Man. And I'm fine. Arcade did a hell of a job patching me up. Couldn't tell you why he's so modest." "Well, that's great! As long as you're feeling capable, feel free to get started anytime. I'll be here, making sure the casino is ready."

"Alright." Carter turned away. "Just don't fuck anything up."

"I'll do my best!" came the cheery voice as he strode away.

* * *

**Lucky 38 Presidential Suite**

**16:21 p.m.**

"There you are, boss. The doctor told me to come look for you."

Carter couldn't recall the last time he had heard Raul's voice. Ever since he had helped the ghoul with his very late-life crisis, he had mostly hung around the Lucky 38, fixing machines and maintaining weapons for the rest of them. He had even worked on Rex and ED-E after a few particularly rough expeditions.

"Yeah. I'm gonna need your help again, Raul. If you're feelin up to the Wasteland, that is."

"Sure, boss. It ain't like it would be hypocritical of me to get back out there after deciding to hang up my holster."

Carter had never liked Raul's sense of humor.

"Just get ready. I'll get you back to your tinkering soon enough."

"Whatever you say, boss." the ghoul acquiesced. "Oh and by the way, all your equipment's in your room good as new; it's almost like you didn't drag it all through a war zone four days ago."

"Thanks." Carter grunted, turning away from Raul to ready himself to enter the Mojave once again.

On the bed, his combat armor and Ranger helmet were nestled comfortably on the sheets. Carter didn't even need to examine them to know anything that had happened to them during the war had been fixed. Were he to compare them side-by-side to untested counterparts, he probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Such was Raul's skill at maintenance and repair. Beside his armor lay the All-American and 10 mm pistol he had carried to the dam that day, along with two grenades and his pack. Though he could have easily accessed the inventory on his Pip-Boy to know what was in there, Carter had always kept a mental note on what went into the weathered leather backpack: Several packages of ready-to-eat food, stimpaks, spare ammo, and water were the items he made sure to have in the bag at all times. In the wasteland, they were necessities. Aside from those, he also usually had some spare clothes, Med-X, Rad-X, and RadAway and his choice of melee weapon: a hatchet. All were useful, but only in certain situations. Still, being caught without them at the wrong time could spell doom for an unprepared wanderer. Whatever empty space was left in the pack became dedicated to whatever it was Carter picked up in the Wasteland. Priority went to extra food, water, and medicine, but the Courier tried to make it a point to grab anything useful. After all, one could never be too prepared. Removing his bandages and strapping the armor onto his chest and arms took longer than expected, due to the residual pain the Courier still felt from his wounds. He assumed he would be in pain for the next few days while his various wounds healed. Every movement brought some unexpected pain, but it was still a far cry from the pain he had been in during the battle. He could take it, but still he decided to forgo the ordeal of putting on the lower half of the armor, leaving on the pants and boots. At least for now.

After replenishing his supplies, the Courier began to paw through his wardrobe, looking for something he could wear over his armor. The Courier had accumulated a great deal of clothing in his travels, but almost nothing that could fit over the bulky armor. And walking around in it tended to give off the wrong impression, even if it had saved his life more than once. Suddenly, his fingers alighted on a rough, unfamiliar fabric. Pulling on the object, the Courier was taken aback as he drew a verdant, green poncho from the wardrobe, the piece of clothing almost untouched by age or decay. Carter didn't know where it had come from but he also didn't care. Perfect. the Courier thought as he pulled the thing over his head. It fit perfectly, hanging down to just about mid-thigh level on Carter's six-foot frame, almost completely obscuring a straight-on view of the armor. Along the border, some sort of strange tribal pattern framed the entirety of the cloak-like article. Here and there, small colorful designs akin to birds were visible. After adding a cowboy hat to his ensemble, and holstering his favored magnum 'Lucky' on his hip, Carter was once again prepared to traipse across the Wasteland. Admittedly, he wasn't thrilled about the prospect. Adjourning to the entrance area, he found Raul, too, was ready and waiting, his magnum dangling from his hip. At his side floated ED-E, a welcome sight after most of his compatriots had departed.

"Never thought I'd actually be happy to see a robot."

ED-E beeped happily in response.

"Gotta say, boss. I don't even recognize you. Thought you were just some guy."

"It's me, Raul. Don't worry."

"If you say so, boss. So where are we headed?"

"Gomorrah." Carter replied, pushing on a pair of sunglasses. "We've got work to do."

* * *

_Author's note: Next chapter will have some sections from Cass's perspective, because I think it will work better that way for what I have in mind. And because I kinda wanna explore Cass's psyche. _

_Also, for those who don't know, Carter is now dressed similarly to 'The Man With No Name' (save for the combat armor underneath, of course; poncho's also a different design). Thought it would be in keeping with the Western motif of New Vegas. Plus dusters are overrated. If you don't know who 'the Man' is, Google him. Clint Eastwood portrayed him so you know he's a badass. Like the Courier._


	5. Troubles By the Score

**Troubles by the Score **

**The Atomic Wrangler **

**July 21, 2281 **

**21:06 p.m. **

"The hell happened to your face, girlie?"

She hadn't even been in this dump five minutes and already some creep was giving her the eye.

"Ain't none of your business, asshole. Unless you wanna make yours look more like mine."

That got him to drop the subject. For now anyways. Yet even taking the few steps to the bar, she could feel his eyes still on her. And many others as well. Clearly travelling with the fucking Courier had done her no favors in the Mojave. The Rose slouched heavily into a stool in front of the bar, her whole body seeming to hit the counter with a WHUMP! Honestly, she had been expecting more out of the Atomic Wrangler with the way the corner whores always talked it up. Instead, there was only a dim, drab building that was just like every other building in Freeside. Inside there were about ten people milling around the large, wood-paneled room that made up the main area of the Wrangler. Empty tables filled the space behind her in front of an equally empty stage, with the curtain drawn and the lights down. At the base of the stairs, one man sat in front of three dilapidated slot machines, drawing the lever with a weary rhythm that belied how long he had been playing. Beyond him, more figures could be seen moving around the tables in the "card-playing area". In short, nothing had changed since the last time she had seen this dump. Even the window outside was still broken, though you couldn't even see the thing from indoors.

From behind the bar, a brown-haired woman dressed in a pristine suit and red tie looked up from the glass she was polishing. She eyed the Rose severely.

"Welcome to the Atomic Wrangler. We've got liquor, whores, and chems aplenty. Pick your fix and we'll oblige. Only rule is no sampling the merchandise. Caps paid in advance."

"I ain't here to steal. Just drink. How much for whiskey?"

"1 cap for a glass. Seven for the bottle."

"I'll take the bottle. I'm celebrating a glorious victory."

Seven caps hit the bar with a distinct clinking. They were soon replaced with Cass's liquor of choice, the brown liquid sloshing freely in the bottle.

_Music to my ears. _

She uncorked the bottle, ignoring the glass that Francine set down next to the bottle, and took her pull straight from the bottle. Long years of drinking had acclimated her to the burn. She still felt the sensation as the alcohol cascaded down her throat, but she relished the burning sensation, and the fuzzy-headed feeling that accompanied it. When the Rose once again set the bottle on the counter, a third of the liquid had disappeared.

"Woah, slow down there, girl." Cass rounded on the voice, lip curled back in a snarl.

"You don't tell me how to drink, and I won't tell you how to do whatever it is you think you do. Deal?"

The offender, a dark-skinned man in a striped suit, raised two hands in alarm. "My apologies. I work here, and some of the patrons get rather… rowdy very quickly."

Cass snorted. "Well, you ain't gotta worry about me. I'm here to drink. Maybe if I wanna get rowdy, I'll give you a holler."

As if to illustrate her point, she took a swig from the bottle.

"That won't be necessary, but… you do look very familiar. How long have you been in Freeside?"

"I come and go. And I'm pretty sure I don't know you."

Old Ben shook his head. "No, no. I'm sure I've seen you before. Walkin around Freeside with that courier they say came back from the dead. I don't forget pretty faces."

"Well do your best to forget mine. I'm tryin to go under the radar at the moment."She took another pull.

"Where is he anyway? You two seemed thick as thieves."

The Rose almost choked on her whiskey."Huh. One of us is. Honestly, I hope he's actually dead this time."

Old Ben's eyes widened. "You two were involved in that hullabaloo at the Dam?"

"Hahaha! Hullabaloo! If that's a hullabaloo to you mister, I don't wanna see your idea of war. Cuz that's what happened up there. A fuckin war."

"Ah, yes. All that business with the NCR and the Legion?" Ben ordered his own drink.

"Yeah. Business." Cass swallowed another mouthful. "You know for someone who lives here, you don't seem too concerned about what's going on."

"Probably because I'm not. As long as business is good, I could care less what happens."

"Huh. You'd be singing a different song if the Legion had won that fight. If you could sing, that is. Otherwise, you'd just be dead. Or a slave."

"Well, I've already been just about everything else. Those'd just be one more thing to add to the list." He took a sip from his own glass.

The Rose raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? So what exactly do you do here?"

Ben's weathered face broke into a semblance of a smile. "You could say I…. provide entertainment to individual guests. For a price."

"What, a ticket to your show don't come with the admission price?"

"No. My entertainment is of a more….. private nature."

The Rose knew all too well what that meant. "And how is the whoring business these days?"

To her surprise, Old Ben seemed relatively unperturbed by her crude description of his job.

"Very profitable, actually. Much better than the first time I tried my hand at it. Suppose it has to do with the quality of the customers."

The Rose laughed heartily at the mention of 'quality'.

"If you can call this shithole "quality", you must've been working in a goddamn deathclaw nest before."

Old Ben smirked, his leathery skin crinkling.

"No, it was mostly on my own. Just went wherever the client wanted. Told your friend the Courier all about it, though I don't know why he was interested. Seems like you weren't with him that day."

"Yeah, guess not."

The whiskey bottle was almost empty at this point. Cass's world was a buzzing blur, heat radiating from seemingly every inch of her body. No doubt her cheeks were flushed the color that gave her her nickname, and the familiar warm sensation of the whiskey in her stomach was welcome as she continued her conversation with Old Ben. The feeling was familiar, comforting, like an old friend, yet she could not shake thoughts of the world outside the Wrangler. Of what was to become of the NCR, the Mojave, and especially the fucking Courier. She hadn't been able to get rid of him at the Outpost, and she couldn't do it now. In the midst of Ben's latest sentence, she suddenly threw back the rest of the whiskey, swallowing hard. She was sure as hell going to try, though.

"Another." she demanded, catching Francine's eye as she pointed tellingly at her glass.

Two more caps hit the bar, and the woman obliged, filling the glass to the brim.

"So why the hell are you talking to me, anyway? You should keep it in your pants till Carter decides to swing by. Pun intended."

That got a smile from Ben.

"I don't exactly swing that way myself. And it also happens that drunk women find me especially alluring."

"Oh, so you're just appealin' to the target consumer, huh? Sorry to rain on your parade, but I get what I want for free. And I ain't really into older men. Of course…." she swallowed down another mouthful of alcohol. "... after a few more drinks, I might be."

"Well, you won't get much for free with your head half-bandaged like that."

Cass fixed him with a look.

"Please. If you're tryin to get me to purchase your 'services', you're gonna have to do better than that. Plenty of fuckers been eyein me since I walked in. Tends to happen wherever I go. So do yourself a favor and either get out of my face or look straight ahead and sip on your sissy cocktail for the rest of the night."

Old Ben obliged, raising his glass to the redhead.

"Cheers, then."

Cass's only response was to down the rest of her drink. She didn't even look his way as she ordered again.

"Another."

The whiskey flowed all night long.

* * *

**Gomorrah **

**July 23, 2281 **

**22:30 p.m. **

The extravagancy of Gomorrah never failed to surprise him. Flames leapt from the casino's sign as a contingent of barely-clothed prostitutes writhed lustily in the street. Shaped like some sort of Pre-War high-rise, even the enormity of the building seemed to be too much, an eternal advertisement to all that in Gomorrah, extravagance was simply the status quo. Even in the bleak vastness of the Wasteland, the fact that such a bloated spectacle to excess could exist never ceased to amaze Carter. But then again, wasn't that exactly what the Strip was? House had used his own excess to preserve this fragment of the past, and it now exploited the people of the present. A drunken prospector staggered past the Courier, muttering something about his rotten luck. He would probably be back tomorrow.

"Welcome to Gomorrah, sugar!" cooed a dancer near the entrance, performing a few extra gyrations for Carter's benefit.

From behind his shades, Carter's eyes gave her body the once-over, but did not pause.

"Sorry, honey, but I ain't all that sweet." he admitted as he opened the door into Gomorrah. "Try my friend."

"Eh, no thanks, boss. Too young for me." the Vaquero declined, the woman giving a yelp of surprise when she saw his face. The prostitute moved away hurriedly. "Though I appreciate the thought."

Almost as soon as they set foot on the entrance area's plush, red carpeting the bouncer stopped them.

"Hand over your weapons, fellas."

"Yeah, yeah. We know how this works. ED-E. Wait." Carter said, unslinging his pack and the All-American from his back and handing them to the man. Raul soon followed suit. Beneath Carter's poncho, 'Lucky' was still snug in its holster, shielded from vision by the green cloak. Carter looked over at the receptionist.

"You seen an NCR guy in here? From McCarran, maybe?"

Her eyes rolled towards the ceiling in thought.

"Yeah, there was someone came in a couple days ago in the uniform, had a couple of wounds on 'im. Heard he's been drinkin himself silly downstairs. Though by now he's probably ditched the outfit."

"Thanks, I'll find him." Carter called as he walked away, towards the stairs leading down to Gomorrah's ground level.

When first he had entered the casino, Carter remembered being taken with the decor of the place, moreso than any other casino on the Strip. The Ultra-Luxe was lavish, but sterile and stuffy; the Tops uniformly drab with occasional splashes of color from the lighting. Gomorrah was a different beast entirely, the sumptuous interior inviting newcomers to drink in all its exotic glory. From the lavish ceiling hanging to the designs on the wall, it seemed everything inside was meant to stimulate the senses. Now, however, the Courier walked past it all, descending into the restrictive and maze-like corridors of the basement without a backwards glance. Compared to the top floor, the basement bar was dull, a vast and empty room lit up brightly so that all the patrons could see the bar in the middle. Whores wandered to and fro: some dancing, others fawning over prospective clients while music played softly in the background. Pushing through the loose collection of bodies, Carter made a beeline for the bar. From somewhere, a raspy voice ventured into his hearing.

"Hey handsome."

The Courier turned to see Raul being propositioned by a female Ghoul prostitute. For once, the old ghoul was silent. Carter left him to his own devices.

Finally gaining the bar, the Courier sat down and removed his sunglasses. Scanning the bar, it was hard to discern which one of the people surrounding it could be the NCR survivor. At least until he spotted an all too familiar face in the crowd.

_Contreras…._

"That motherfucker."

Even dressed in what could be described as Pre-War casual wear, the shady supply merchant was instantly recognizable. The Courier was on his feet immediately, pushing his way to the ex-Sergeant's side in moments. Nursing a glass of whiskey, Contreras was chatting up a blonde prostitute and getting pretty handsy about it. Carter's eyes followed Contreras's hand as it slid to the woman's buttocks. In response, she gave a small squeal, but leaned in even closer, trailing a finger in the stubby beard on his chin.

"Get lost, lady." the Courier growled at the whore as he approached the pair. Just seeing the slimy Contreras made him edgy.

Contreras looked up, head swaying slightly. He was clearly very drunk.

"Hey step off, man. She's…. with me. There're plenty of otherrrr onessssaround."

"Yeah, sugar." the whore said, looking up at the Courier before leaning to whisper in Carter's ear. "I hear Hannah likes black guys."

"Oh. Well, uh... thanks for the tip." Carter replied. "But I need to speak with the Sergeant here. We're old friends. I haven't seen him in a while."

Contreras was clearly befuddled at Carter's presence, but as the Courier watched, he saw realization slowly dawn on the Hispanic man's face.

"I...I don't kn-know yyyou."

"Of course you do, Contreras. It's me. Your old friend Carter." He looked at the whore. "I'll pay you twice your rate to walk away from this piece of shit."

"Deal." she agreed, no longer even faking interest in the Sergeant. "300 caps."

The Courier raised an eyebrow. "I know Joana's rate was 75. And she was the best prostitute in this place."

"Yeah, now I'm the best." the whore insisted, her tone firm. "300."

Carter could tell she was lying to him. He smiled sweetly.

"150." he said, reaching for his belt. "And I won't tell Cachino to kick your ass back out into the Mojave."

He dropped the currency in her hand.

"You can't-"

"Try me. You'll lose." Carter warned her, his tone dangerous.

The blonde took the hint. She disappeared into the crowd.

"Alone at last." the Courier grinned at Contreras. "So why tell me: why didn't the Fiends kill your sorry ass? Couldn't have been your charming personality."

Contreras regarded him with unease. "Chems. Gave 'em a lot. Of chems."

"Yeah, I'm sure you did, Contreras. In fact, that sounds exactly like something you would do. And I'll bet you didn't fire a single goddamn shot at them either. So now you're gonna do something you wouldn't normally do: you're gonna help me kill those Fiends."

"Annnd why would I do that?" the Sergeant asked, glassy-eyed from the alcohol.

"Oh, that's right! I forgot we must be living in some fucking alternate universe where you didn't almost get me killed by an undercover NCR agent."

"And you almost… got me arressted." Contreras countered, his tongue slipping badly over the syllables.

"Yes. Let's compare getting killed and getting arrested."

The Courier drew Lucky in a flash and pressed the barrel to Contreras's temple.

"Here. I'll shoot you in the fucking head. And then Securitrons will come arrest me."

Contreras nearly fell out of his bar chair in his haste to get away from Carter, who only sighed as he grabbed the ex-Sergeant by his collar and heaved him upright, his body protesting the whole time.

"I think you need some fresh air, buddy." the Courier suggested, beckoning Raul as he half-dragged, half-pushed Contreras to the entrance. The Sergeant was too drunk to even struggle, and meekly allowed the Courier to manhandle him all the way to the doors. Once outside, Carter threw the man to the ground.

"Sober up quick, asshole. We're leaving now."

"Attacking the enemy stronghold at night with no intel? Sounds like a perfect plan, boss."

Carter let the comment roll off him.

"I'm trying to utilize these things called "the element of surprise" and "the cover of night", Raul. But feel free to head back to the 38. I'm sure I'll be fine with a slobbering drunk covering my back."

Behind him, ED-E beeped indignantly.

"And ED-E, of course."

"I'm liking this plan more every second, boss. Just lead the way."

"I will." He gave Contreras a kick in the ribs. "but first we need to make a stop."

* * *

**Somewhere near Camp McCarran **

**July 23, 2281 **

**23:15 p.m. **

The Wasteland was quiet; almost deathly so. Not that that was surprising. Especially at night, the open expanses of the Mojave were largely silent. With most vehicles out of commission, and people sticking close to urbanized areas, lone travelers were even more lonesome than before the Great War. The Rose had not wandered the Wasteland on her own in some time. Most of her life had been spent with her family escorting various Caravans across the desert on behalf of the company. Drinking at the Outpost and wandering with the Courier had filled in the rest. Cass had been in the Wasteland for almost her whole life, but she had never been alone in it. She took another swig of whiskey to settle the butterflies in her stomach. She was alert for any sounds around her. Even the wind causing the rocks to skitter around drew her attention, as well as the muzzle of her shotgun. Still, she was making good progress. Already an hour or so of walking had brought her to the front entrance of Camp McCarran, the dilapidated sign advertising what had, before the war, been a thriving international concourse. The gray letters high above could only just be made out in the moonlight. Cass checked her watch. Nearly midnight. And she still had a long way to go. Perhaps she could find a place nearby to grab a couple of hours of sleep, and then find a strapping NCR trooper or two to escort her in the morning.

To her left, the shabby El Rey Motel offered some possibilities, though she didn't relish the idea of spending the night surrounded by drug addicts. Yet with no soldiers supervising the outside of McCarran, there weren't a lot of choices.

_Just my luck….._

She turned towards the motel, bottle in one hand, and the shotgun wielded in one hand across her shoulders, a finger looped in the trigger. The courtyard was oddly quiet. The few times she had come the place with Carter, there had always been at least a couple of druggies roaming around. Now there was no one. Her footsteps echoed hollowly around her as Cass moved towards the courtyard of the motel, her entire body on alert. As she passed what used to be the lobby of the motel, a sudden flicker of movement from her right caused a reaction. The Rose raised her right arm against her assailant, but the alcohol made her slow. The wooden bat crashed into her arm with fearsome speed, shattering the whiskey bottle and quite possibly her arm in the process. Loosing a cry of pain, the cowgirl hit the ground on her elbow, raising the muzzle of the shotgun towards her attacker and firing blindly. Cass was rewarded with a cry of pain, but her victory was short-lived as she was met with a vicious kick to the small of her back, causing her to lose her grip on her gun.

"Aah!" came the cowgirl's cry, but it was cut off quickly by a gloved hand over her mouth.

"Shut up." came a gruff, yet shaky voice. A knife blade was pressed to her throat. "And give me your pack. If you try to do anything except that, he will shoot."

At "he", her assailant nodded towards the balcony of the motel where a barely discernible, crouched figure glared at Cass through a scoped rifle.

"If you understand, nod."

As soon as Cass had acquiesced to his command, the unseen man pushed her away. "Then go ahead. Quickly or I'll shoot you myself."

The Rose slowly dragged herself to her feet, her back and right arm throbbing horribly in pain. Moving the injured arm to her pack, she tested the extent of the injury, satisfied that it wasn't broken. Still, it hurt like hell. Slowly as she dared, Cass unslung the pack from her back, her breathing heavy as she sized up the man across from her, who was now holding a 9mm pistol levelled directly at her chest. Her shotgun was close, but by the time she made a move for it, she would probably be dead. Cass tossed the pack towards him, her eyes following the bag as it hit the ground. Moving forwards, the man collected both pack and shotgun, his pistol sights never leaving Cass's heart. From Cass's right, a woman suddenly appeared, hand clutched to a heavily bleeding wound on her left hip. Her right arm dragged a baseball bat. Dressed in a ratty grey t-shirt, dusty brown pants, and boots, the woman was nearly a mirror image of the grimy man training the pistol on her.

_Fiends..._

But they wouldn't dare venture this close to McCarran under normal circumstances. What exactly had the Battle at the Dam wrought in the Mojave?

"The fucking bitch shot me!" the woman screeched, shooting a death-glare in Cass's direction. The man barely paid her any attention, his eyes darting between Cass and her pack rapidly. He licked his lips.

"See if she's got anything in the pack. I've been craving some Hydra."

The bleeding woman rummaged in Cass's pack for a few moments before producing a stimpak, and plunging the needle into her side. The look of relief on her face was palpable as the medicine went to work, re-knitting the flesh that had been torn apart by the glancing shot Cass had landed. With that done, she continued to rummage in the pack at her companion's behest. As the seconds passed, the Fiend woman grew ever more frustrated, eventually upturning the whole pack itself. All of Cass's belongings went crashing to the ground.

"She ain't got any chems. Just a fuckton of booze."

"You sure?" the man asked. His voice was growing every more panicky.

"Check again."

"You can fucking check if you want. I'm sure enough. Seems like ain't no travelers got decent chems now that the Khans are gone."

"Fuck! I can't go another day without something to shoot up. Just take the guns and ammo and let's get out of here."

"What about the booze?"

The man's face wrinkled in disgust. "Never liked whiskey."

"Maybe we can use it to trade for somethin."

The male Fiend considered this.

"Ok, fine. We'll take the whole pack. And kill the girl." He signaled to his balcony buddy. "NO!" the female Fiend screamed. "Let me do it. Bitch almost crippled me."

"Fine." the male agreed, putting the contents of the pack back inside. "But make it quick. I wanna head back to the terminal."

"Ooooh no, no, no." the female whispered sweetly, twirling her bat as she approached Cass, a sinister smile playing across her lips. "I'm gonna take my time."

* * *

_Cliffhangers are fun._


	6. A Rude Welcome (Back) to the Mojave

**A Rude Welcome**

**Freeside**

**July 24, 2281**

**00:13 a.m.**

Carter put his shoulder to the heavy door leading out of the Strip. The metal barrier scraped and screeched as it opened out into the surrounding area of Freeside.

The soft droning of the Securitron guards greeted him.

"Good evening, sir." intoned one mechanical voice as Carter and Raul strode past.

"Evening" came the reply, as the Courier barely even broke stride. Past the gates and security checkpoint, choked by fences, walkways, and barbed wire, Freeside looked mostly the same. The grey, crumbling highway stretched away towards the North Gate, framed by colorless, crumbling buildings on either side, robbed of their miniscule coloring by nightfall. Carter and Raul's boots crunched monotonously across the rubble as they walked down the street, the only source of light coming from the Kings' hideout a hundred meters away. With all the lights ablaze and the neon sign shining brightly, the place looked much different at night: a beacon in the bleak landscape of Freeside. In the streets wandered a few toughs dressed like the idol the King had once told him about. A few wore jackets with the Kings emblem emblazoned on the back, others simple white t-shirts. All had overly-gelled hair styled the same way, and a handgun on their hips.

As Carter passed by they gave him a nod of acknowledgement, which the Courier returned. Oddly enough, things seemed more quiet than usual. Perhaps the rumors of Freeside's instability had been overstated?

Suddenly, voices from his right.

"Fuck the Kings!"

"Kill the bastards!"

And, of course, the classic:

"Raaaah!"

Carter drew Lucky in a flash, the black and silver magnum almost invisible in the night. Coolly, the Courier cocked the hammer and relieved the first thug of his head amidst a spray of blood. Beside him, Raul fanned his own revolver, bringing down two more as ED-E's lasers reduced another to ashes. With the bulk of their strength gone, the remaining thugs turned to flee, but at that moment, the Kings joined in the fray. Running down the stragglers, a greaser with a pool cue laid into a thug immediately, swinging so hard that he snapped the object across the man's back. The thug screamed in agony, only to be met with the point of the shattered cue through his throat, cutting off the scream prematurely in a shower of blood.

"Fuck the Kings, huh?" the aggressor shouted, as his peers now had the remaining thugs in hand.

Carter turned away, not particularly caring to see what happened next. The screams of the thugs fed his imagination.

**The Atomic Wrangler**

**July 24, 2281**

**00:21 a.m.**

They reached the Wrangler without further incident. Freeside at night was as quiet as ever, save for the soft music playing from the Kings' hideout. A few natives of the area wandered the streets as per usual, clothes and faces stained with dirt and grime. They barely gave the Courier and his companions a second glance. At the street leading to the Wrangler, a female crier was going through her familiar routine of suggestive dancing and promoting her employer, her voice clearly strained from the shouting. Carter offered only a passing glance as they moved past her.

Upon reaching the Wrangler, Carter and Raul pushed their way into the dingy establishment with nary a second glance thrown their way, leaving Contreras under ED-E's supervision. The interior of the Wrangler hadn't changed even one iota since the Courier last saw it: wood everywhere, grimy, dusty, and dark, even when the sun hung in the sky. That was the Wrangler. And it seemed it always would be. It was a far cry from the sumptuous Gomorrah, but in its simplicity was a certain comfort level that he had never felt amidst the oppressive sleaze of the Omertas' casino.

Carter strode to the bar, removing his Cowboy Hat as he went, and placing it on the bar. Soundlessly, Francine Garrett appeared in front of him.

"Ah, Mr. Carter. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"You haven't heard? I just moved in down the street. Place called the Lucky 38. Nice place. Can't miss it."

Francine gave him a smile devoid of mirth.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Always right to business. That's what I like about you Francine. No, no drink for me, but get my ghoul friend here some tequila. And some oil for my robot. And while you're getting that, bring your brother out here, too."

Francine didn't move, continuing to smile her joyless smile.

"I'm afraid my brother James is sleeping."

"Well, wake him up. We have business to discuss. Among other things."

"He's very tired. Just finished working a nine-hour shift. Perhaps you can come back-"

Carter slammed his fist down on the table, ignoring the small lances of pain it sent through his body.

"I asked to see him now. And I asked you to got get him. I would go myself, but I'm no good at waking people gently."

"What is this about?"

"None of your fuckin business. And if you say another word before I see your brother, he's gonna wake up to his sister's corpse."

Francine placed the tequila and oil on the counter before departing to find James.

On his right, Raul uncorked the bottle of amber liquid.

"You're a regular silvertongue, boss." he offered, the sound of him pouring filling the silence.

"I swear the only things people in the Wasteland respond to are favors and fucking threats."

"It's almost like those are your only dialogue options, boss."

"Please just drink your fucking tequila." Carter growled.

"Of course, boss. I'm Mexican, so I just can't enough tequila." One could almost feel the sarcasm.

Carter's head whipped towards the ghoul. "Has anyone ever told you you're really frustrating to talk to sometimes?"

"Sure, boss." Raul swallowed a bit of his tequila. "You just did."

At this, Carter grabbed the bottle and took his own swig.

"Nine caps." a male voice reminded him. Standing over the Courier, James Garrett looked like shit. Clothes disheveled and hair askew, it was clear that he had just been woken up. His normally impeccably arranged suit was buttoned haphazardly, tie loosened, and collar off-kilter. Though his voice was tinged with drowsiness, his eyes were strangely focused, sleep seemingly absent from them entirely.

Carter dropped the caps on the bar. As Garrett swept them off the surface, Carter led with an innocuous question.

"How's business, James?"

"Would be a lot better if I could get some sleep after my shifts. Why're you here, Carter?"

"Let's just say I came to check on my investments."

James sighed. "I'm going to assume you have a reason for waking me up? Or you're just a dick. In which case I'll be going back to sleep."

"The Old Mormon Fort is undersupplied."

"I've heard. You wasted your time if that's what you came here to say."

Carter's face was stone. "You said you could supply them."

"And I could before. But now that the mortality rate in Freeside has skyrocketed and the Khans have left the desert, it's hard enough supplying the Wrangler. I send what I can to the Fort, but I can't afford to send much. Lately, it's been next to nothing."

"Well, it needs to start being something. Take it out of the Wrangler if you have to."

"No." James growled, placing both hands on the counter. "I'm not taking shit out of the Wrangler to give to those charity cases. I have a business to run, and I'll run it into the ground before I let you tell me what to do."

"You and I both know there won't be a goddamn Wrangler if the Followers go under. Just a lot of fucking dead bodies."

"So be it." James responded, his face impassable. "Now, if that's all you came to say, please leave."

"Fraid I'm not done. You seen a redhead round here? Dressed up like a cowgirl? Likes to get drunk on whiskey? Got a pretty big mouth on her? Or maybe a guy with a red beret and sunglasses? Got a mouth, but barely uses it?"

James's face quickly turned to disgust. "Yeah, I know the girl. Rented a couple days. Comes down to drink and pick up some new guy to fuck every night. Rowdy bitch. Haven't seen the guy."

"That sounds Cass-like." Carter acknowledged. The cowgirl's personality was fairly distinct. "Which room she staying at these days?"

"None." Francine's voice from further down the bar. "She left a few hours ago." the female twin revealed, as she set down a glass of alcohol in front of a new customer.

"Did she say where she was headed?"

"Nope. Just bought a couple bottles of whiskey and walked out the door."

Carter nodded, reaching again for the bottle of tequila. "Could be headed anywhere between here and Goodsprings."

"You don't think she headed back West, do you, boss? Into NCR territory?"

For once the ghoul made a useful comment.

"Most likely. She called the NCR family. Like a brother to her. And with her caravan gone….. It'd make a whole lot of sense."

"So you gotta plan, boss? I should probably stop drinking this tequila before it rots what's left of my guts."

Carter hesitated briefly before replying, relieving the ghoul of the tequila bottle.

"Yeah. Let her go. She walked out on this. Its over."

"Sounds good, boss."

Carter turned away from the bar, standing to leave.

"We're not done talking about this Followers thing, James."

"As far as I'm concerned, we are. So I'm going back to sleep. Come back with something for me if you really want to discuss things further."

_Favors and fucking threats….._

"I'll see what I can do." Carter offered as he replaced his hat on his head, and headed back out into the night.

**El Rey Motel**

**July 24, 2281**

**01:37 a.m.**

The motel was quiet. Normally, there would be a cadre of junkies wandering around looking for some way to get their next fix. They were relatively quiet for junkies, but unmistakable in the noise that they made wandering around the lot, harassing any travelers for spare chems and caps. In short, their absence was noted. Carter was already uneasy as his boots hit the gravel of the lot. With the Fiends now taking up residence in Camp McCarran, it was only all too likely that some of them had set up in the Motel. Not only did it provide a strategic location from which to observe or even trap travelers, but it was no doubt more comfortable than the accommodations to be found in the Airport. But perhaps he was outthinking himself. The Fiends had never been very strategic thinkers. The best move they had ever made was taking Vault 3, and they had just thrown that away by attacking McCarran. Still, one didn't make it long in the Wasteland without being cautious. Carter lowered himself into a crouch, hands closed tight around the smooth ivory handle of 'Lucky' as he crept past the motel's defunct welcome desk. He motioned for the others to do the same.

From somewhere behind him Raul whispered: "Nice and sneaky boss. That is, if my creaking knees don't give us away."

Eyes trained on the ground, Carter swept them back and forth, looking for the telltale red light and slightly raised hump that signaled the presence of frag mines. He found none.

"Your creaking knees are the least of our worries if there are any Fiends hanging around."

Satisfied that the surrounding ground was free of booby traps, Carter regained his feet, and looked around the area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. If the Fiends or anyone else was planning to ambush them, they would have done it already, most likely using the building as cover. Once past the front desk, there was only a large expanse of flat dustiness that stretched to the nearby gas station. No cover or hiding places, save for a short pile of rubble near the motel entrance. And no way to surprise them.

"Seems pretty empty to me, boss." Raul remarked.

"Yeah." Carter agreed, holstering Lucky. Something still felt wrong. "Take Contreras inside. I'm gonna see if the Fiends left us any gifts lyin around."

"Didn't know it was the gift-giving season, boss. Hope they didn't leave you anything too nice."

The ghoul pressed the barrel of his magnum into Contreras's back, steering the Sergeant towards the nearest motel door.

"Yeah, grandpa. I'll be careful." he promised as the pair disappeared into a first-level motel room.

"No traps. And yet there's blood on the ground…." he muttered, stooping close to the telltale spots it left behind. Though darkened by exposure to the open air, the Courier had long ago learned to discern the distinctive hue. He put two fingers to a small patch of the liquid, rubbing to judge the dryness of the liquid. It would tell him how long the blood had been here.

_Not long…. _he noted. The blood was dry, but the color was still vibrant: the sun had not yet had a chance to bleach it. Something had happened here not too long ago. Carter's right hand strayed to his magnum.

"ED-E. Stay alert."

The robot beeped in response.

Carter kept moving, noting that the spots created a trail, delineating the path of the wounded. He followed until he noticed a much larger patch of dark red, noting the location where a fight must have either taken place or been resolved. The Courier was back at the front desk.

"Hmmm…" the Courier murmured. It seemed as if an ambush or some surprise had been sniffed out. And the perpetrator along with it. Or some poor wounded soul had dragged themselves here to die. But if that was the case, where was the body?

Ignoring his own rising sense of dread for the moment, the Courier moved towards the door adjacent to the one into which Raul and Contreras had disappeared. Flicking on his Pip-Boy light, Carter took a few measured steps into the room, scrutinizing his surroundings. The carpeted floor of the room was littered with needles, surgical tubing, and various chem containers.

_Probably empty, _he noted, considering the motel's former inhabitants.

The bed was disheveled, the green cover knotted into a tangled mess atop the mattress. Across from the bed, a bureau hugged the wall, all of its drawers pulled out and the contents strewn across the floor. In the corner nearest the door, a wardrobe stood silently, its doors opened to reveal the bare interior. On the other side of the bed, a small table with a lamp stood seemingly untouched. The bulb was dark.

After scavenging what he could from the first room, the Courier moved on to check the other rooms, each essentially a carbon copy of the last. It was all the same. Carter took what he could from each new room, noting the usefulness of each item as he stowed it away. Satisfied that there were no traps or other surprises waiting for them inside the motel, Carter trudged towards the stairs of the motel, intent on joining Raul and Contreras. Something made him stop. A noise; something like a small groan or a gasp. His hand flew instinctively to Lucky as he paused to pinpoint the source of the noise. It was faint, but audible. Most likely coming from the ground. The Courier descended the stairs, each step ringing loudly in his head. Blood drummed in Carter's ears as his heart rate increased, dreading what he might find.

The noise sounded again, clearer this time, but still there was nothing around from where it seemed to originate. Carter looked to the ground.

_More blood…._

This time, the liquid seemed almost to make a trail, leading the Courier towards a scene he could only imagine. As he rounded the corner and beheld the sight that awaited him, he almost wished he hadn't.

"Oh, fuck! Cass!"

Beaten and bloody, the Courier might not have recognized the Cowgirl's bruised and swollen face if not for the red hair. Her clothes, drenched in blood, were almost unrecognizable, and her hat was nowhere to be found. She had been beaten so badly her face was basically one large bruise.

"Cass, can you hear me?!"

He put an ear to her chest, the blood drenching her clothing all but forgotten as he planted an ear on her chest. Over his own, labored breathing, he could only barely make out a heartbeat. Faint, but steady. It was only a matter of time before her heart gave out. Carter shed his pack immediately and began rummaging through it for meds. He dared not move Cass for fear of further exacerbating her injuries; only a cursory glance told him how severe they were. Brandon had never fully recovered the memories of his life before being shot at Goodsprings, but as he wandered the Mojave, he had found he had a natural affinity for medicine. Carter could only speculate that he had had at least some medical training in his previous life, and it had proven invaluable in his travels. From spotting signs of addiction to treating himself to administering chems, it had never hurt him to possess such knowledge. At Camp Forlorn Hope, he had even saved three NCR soldiers from wounds that would have killed them if left untreated. His mind was already working to help Cass avoid the same fate.

_Need to stop the bleeding… get her heart rate up…._

A stimpak was the obvious choice, but it's tissue-regenerating properties could close wounds over shrapnel or bullets that needed to be removed. There was too much blood for this to simply be blunt trauma.

Carter pawed over her torso, feeling the blood's wetness increase as he strayed closer to Cass's abdomen. Without hesitation, he tore open her patterned shirt, revealing the trauma that lay underneath: blood trickled slowly from a wound situated almost directly in line with Cass's bellybutton, the liquid staining even her pale skin a frightening shade of crimson. Carter's left hand moved underneath Cass's body to probe for an exit wound. Finding none, he plunged immediately into his pack for materials, coming up with Med-X, a Doctor's Bag, and a Stimpak.

"Hope you had a lot of fucking whiskey today, Cass." he said, tying off the upper part of the cowgirl's arm with surgical tubing. "Because this gonna hurt."

Too much pain would send her body into shock immediately, creating even more problems for the already risky procedure Carter was attempting to perform. At least with enough alcohol and some Med-X, she wouldn't feel most of it. As veins began to bulge from Cass's cordoned arm, Carter picked a branch and plunged the needle in. There was a small sound from Cass's lips as the drugs hit her system, but Carter did not pause as he drew forceps and a scalpel from the Doctor's Bag. Locating the face of the wound proved somewhat troublesome, but in only a few moments, he was fishing around in Cass's stomach, probing expertly with the tools to find the bullet. Once he hit paydirt, however, maneuvering became trickier. Removing a bullet in the middle of the night was weird that way. With his Pip-Boy light and his own nimble fingers, Carter managed to pull the offending piece of metal from Cass's body in good time. He finished by administering the Stimpak in the same arm as the Med-X and dragged his fingers over the wound to make sure the flesh knitted properly. Bandages, and perhaps a shower would have to come later. For now he had to make sure she lived.

Gathering Cass's limp form in his arms, Carter staggered back towards the room in which he expected Raul and Contreras to be found. His body screamed in protest. Already burdened as it was by combat armor and recovering from the war, Cass's weight was yet another burden on a body on the mend. Gritting his teeth through the pain, the Courier kicked the door open, finding things much the same as he had in the other rooms. There was only one exception. Well, two exceptions, really.

"Raul, I need some help here."

The ghoul looked up from his perch in a threadbare armchair, gun still trained on a disgruntled Contreras as he turned towards Carter's voice.

"You can just lay her down on the bed, boss. Looks like she could use the beauty sleep."

Carter did as he suggested, laying Cass's prone form gently on the bed.

"Does the sink in here work?" Carter queried his older companion. His breathing was heavy.

"Haven't tried it out yet, boss. Been preoccupied with our new friend."

"Well leave him to me for now. Take some cloths, soak them in cold water, then bring them all back out here. We need to keep Cass stable."

"What happened to her, boss?"

"Fiends if I had to guess." Carter said, pulling cloths and bandages from his own pack and placing them in the ghoul's outstretched hand. "Shot in the stomach. Had to remove the bullet myself. A lot of blunt force trauma to the head and limbs as well. I would use Hydra, but I don't know her medical history. And she's probably been drinking."

Carter looked pointedly at Cass's face.

"Bruising indicates likely subcutaneous swelling and bleeding, though hopefully the Stimpak fixed that. Heart rate's weak, but steady. So now we wait. And maybe pray."

"Fraid I don't know any prayers, boss." the ghoul stated as he disappeared into the bathroom

"Neither do I." Carter admitted as he reached for Lucky. "But I do know who I'm gonna kill."

He trained the barrel on Contreras. "Get up. You and I are leaving."

Contreras had sobered up since they left the casino: the sergeant's sentences were almost intelligible now. He looked up at Carter with angry eyes.

"And where are we going?"

"Oh, are you playing stupid now? Or were you too drunk to remember our conversation in Gomorrah? We're going to Camp McCarran to kill Motor Runner and friends. Now get the hell up."

Still staring daggers at the Courier, Contreras rose reluctantly to his feet. "You know I don't have any weapons or armor?"

Carter snorted. "Yeah, I have eyes. You'll get your things back once you and I are safe inside the Camp. Not before."

The sound of Raul running water in the bathroom began to float through the room.

"And what makes you think I'm capable of getting both of us in there safely?"

"For fuck's sake, Contreras, you must have drunk enough alcohol to kill whatever brain cells you had left. I know you're the only NCR survivor of the attack. So either you got REAL lucky or you had an escape route. I'm taking a chance on the latter because even Fiends aren't stupid enough to leave their front door unguarded."

Contreras smirked. "Don't you have to take care of the girl?"

He indicated Cass with a thumb.

"No." Carter said darkly, not even looking in Cass's direction. As Raul stepped back into the room, cloths in hand, Carter indicated the mechanic with Lucky's barrel.

"Raul's going to stay here and do that. "

The Courier looked towards the ghoul.

"Do what you can to keep the swelling down. Finding ice would be ideal, but cold water will have to do. If we're not back by morning, get Cass to the Old Mormon Fort."

"Sure thing, boss. A half-dead girl and an arthritic ghoul will be fine on their own." Raul managed as he set to work placing a damp cloth across Cass's forehead.

"As long as the arthritis doesn't affect your aim, you mean." Carter responded evenly before returning his attention to the ex-Sergeant.

"Even if you have more dumbass questions to ask Contreras, I don't want to hear them. Let's move."

* * *

**This chapter took a while because of life things. Apologies for the wait. Next time the attack on McCarran commences.**


	7. Camp Fiend

**Outside Camp McCarran**

**July 24th, 2281**

**2:01 a.m.**

"Any sentries?"

"No. After fighting all the soldiers stationed here, there's no way they have enough manpower to cover the whole wall."

"Better safe than sorry." Carter unslung the All-American from his back. "ED-E, watch Contreras here. Shoot him in the leg if he tries to run."

The robot let out a series of dutiful sounding beeps. The sergeant raised his hands in defense.

"Th-that's not necessary."

"Yeah, not if you don't run." the Courier noted as he raised the scoped rifle to his right eye.

The walls of McCarran were imposing, a seemingly impenetrable stretch of concrete topped with barbed wire, bathed grey in the moonlight. Over the wall, the tops of a few control towers were just barely visible against the skyline. Carter swept his vision across the wall slowly, keeping an eye out for any signs of movement or telltale shadows along the top of McCarran's walls. Already he regretted not bring along a silenced weapon, particularly his sniper rifle, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Satisfied that they were alone, Carter replaced the weapon, and looked to Contreras. The ex-NCR man's face was visibly shining in the moonlight.

"Keep goin, Contreras. We almost there?"

"Yeah." the hispanic man responded. "Once we get past those planes, we're there."

Before them, the indicated planes were not more than shadowy monoliths,dark and defunct as they sat outside the airfield they had no doubt once sat upon. Carter remembered seeing them in the light, just as broken down, damaged, and rusty as everything else in the Wasteland. He followed after Contreras with Lucky in hand as the pair cut a path towards the vehicles, ED-E floating dutifully behind the Courier. It did not take them long to reach their destination: a pair of trashcans, piled high with garbage. The Courier stared quizzically until Contreras filled him in.

"Those dmpsters block the view of an old access tunnel that leads to the courtyard near my supply shack. It's how I used to get shipments."

The Courier followed the other man's lead as he pressed himself to the wall, arm outstretched to feel along the wall. In the darkness and shadow of the, it was difficult to make out anything. Eventually, Contreras stopped, his hand closing hard around something. He paused briefly to push the dumpster a bit farther from the door before he pulled open the portal to the tunnel. Keeping his eyes and his gun trained on the man, Carter followed him into the tunnel, activating his Pip-Boy light as he went. The interior was even darker than the night outside. Only a thin glimmer of light across the room indicated an exit, and Carter had to crouch slightly just to fit inside.

He prodded Contreras. "Keep going."

They moved forward quietly, reaching the door in a matter of moments. But it was here Contreras stopped. "Give me my weapons."

"I said when we're inside."

"We are. And we have no idea what's waiting on the other side of that door. So give me a fucking gun."

He made a good point.

Carter shed his pack, reaching in to fish around for the weapon he had recovered on Contreras's behalf in Gomorrah. The Courier soon handed him a 9 mm pistol and a riot vest that looked like it had been cut from a Powder Ganger outfit. As Contreras prepared himself, Carter waited in silence, checking the ammunition in his pack and Lucky's chamber. In his left hand, Carter hefted a hatchet, the weight of the axe unfamiliar in his hand. Until they knew more about what they dealing with at McCarran, stealth would be essential. Lucky may have been stylish and powerful, but stealthy it was not. He holstered the revolver and looked back to Contreras.

"You ready?"

The Hispanic man nodded, his face a mask of anxiety. "Yeah."

"Well, snakes first." Carter said, indicating the door with his hatchet blade.

By the light of his Pip-Boy, he watched as Contreras pulled open the door to Camp McCarran.

The airfield was even quieter than the tunnel. Directly in front of him, moon light bathed the faded bodies of two more airplanes, long defunct and grounded. They filled the expanse between the entry and the terminal with their silent, imposing presence. As they moved beneath their steel corpses, Carter looked up at the once proud flying machines. History said that these machines had once flown through the skies, ferrying large amounts of people from airfield to airfield. Carter had only ever seen one plane fly: the Boomers' B-59 bomber at the Battle of Hoover Dam. He had always wondered what it would be like to fly in one of the things. Perhaps next time he was at Nellis, he would ask for a ride. For now, simply being near a plane would do.

Carter pressed himself to the body of one of the planes, keeping to the huge pools of darkness that cloaked the ground beneath. He kept a wary eye on Contreras in front of him as the former NCR man craned his head towards the entrance to what had once been his storage shed.

"Doesn't look much different…" he observed. "I think we should be alright."

"Careful." Carter growled reluctantly. "Fiends are unpredictable. And they like dogs."

"Your concern is touching." Contreras responded sarcastically, already moving towards the door.

Carter was close behind, ears straining for sounds of activity in the terminal. All around, things were quiet as the grave, blanketing the former NCR camp in an unnerving silence. Carter's grip on his hatchet tightened. He didn't like this at all. The door, thankfully, was unlocked and the duo pushed their way into the dingy storage shack.

The place had been ransacked: shelving lay sideways on the floor, crates and boxes were overturned. Even in the dim light, Carter could see the contents of the boxes strewn across the floor like so much trash. Even the reloading bench had been flipped onto it's side, shell casings and tools scattered around it. Carter's boots crunched audibly as he moved into the room, victims of the debris that was everywhere. ED-E floated silently at his side as Contreras moved towards the boxes, combing over the discarded materials. Carter moved to right the reloading bench. Straining under the weight of the table, he righted it as quietly as possible before bending to examine the shells under his feet.

_Pistol casings…. look like 9mm….._

If the reloading bench weren't in such a state of disrepair, he might have spent the time to make convert the casings into a few more bullets for Lucky, but as it was now, he simply didn't want to waste the time.

"Find anything useful?" he asked Contreras, placing the casing back down on the bench.

"Nah. Bastards cleaned the place out. Though I wonder if they found it…."

"Found what?"

"My secret supply." Contreras responded, moving to the corner where the reloading bench used to stand. The ex-sergeant produced a crowbar seemingly from nowhere, and struck towards the floorboards, causing a thunderous sound to echo through the room. Carter rushed to the door, the trash littering the room forgotten as he raced to see if Contreras's actions had announced their presence. Carter pulled open the door just a crack, looking down the hall that led towards the main terminal. When the NCR had held the airfield, there had been guards at nearly every door, but he doubted the Fiends had either the manpower or the desire to do the same. Turns out he was wrong.

The door slammed back against the Courier with surprising force, sending the crouched Carter onto his back with a muffled curse, his hatchet clattering to the floor. ED-E's lasers had only just started to warm when his assailants rushed into the room, brandishing their own weapons. A screaming female with a mohawk fell on Carter immediately. Her hand flashed downwards to Carter's throat immediately, a knife sparkling in her hand. The Courier raised his right arm protectively, catching the woman's wrist on his forearm, but the reprieve was short-lived. Fueled by the crazed strength that only came from a Psycho high, she continued to push downwards fiercely, pressing her body weight down on her knife hand, manic glee shining in her eye.

From the doorway, her companion rushed ED-E with a baseball bat, absorbing a round from the eyebot's laser cannons even as he swung full-force at the floating bot. The bat connected with a resounding crash against ED-E's Brotherhood-installed armor, but still the bot was sent flying away towards the far wall, a loud crash emanating from where the robot disappeared.

On the floor, Carter was deadlocked with his assailant, both grunting with exertion as the knife blade inched dangerously close to the Courier's throat. Carter's left hand balled into a fist, which he slammed into the woman's side with as much force as he could muster. He was rewarded with a grunt, and immediately pushed against the floor, twisting with his lower body to throw the woman's weight off of him and to the ground with a cry. A throaty roar drew the Courier's eyes upwards, as the wooden bat that had sent ED-E flying hurtled in a downward arc towards his head. Carter's arms flew up again, crossing to catch the instrument before it contacted his cranium. The bat crashed into his combat armor, sending ripples of pain through Carter's limbs, but averting catastrophe. The weapon's weight withdrew immediately, its holder no doubt preparing for another strike.

"Contreras!" the Courier yelled, instinctively reaching for Lucky as he pushed away from the batsmen with his other hand. "That supply better be a goddamn rocket launcher for all the time it's taking you!"

From his upside-down position, Carter tilted his head back, cocked the magnum and fired towards the bat-wielding Fiend, not even looking to see if he had hit his target. He rolled to the left, but not quickly enough. An unseen force slammed into his chest, causing the Courier to loose a gasp of pain. Even with the combat armor protecting them, his ribs were still tender. He raised Lucky to fire again, but his hand was met with instead with a familiar bat slamming the wrist of his gun hand to the ground. Carter let out a cry of pain, firing off one final round from his magnum before he curled his arm protectively towards his body. Almost simultaneously, the sound of gunfire filled the room from elsewhere. The Courier flinched away from the screams of the Fiends as Contreras filled their attacker's bodies with bullets. Warm droplets of blood misted across Carter's exposed skin as bullets tore through the Fiends and their bodies dropped to the floor, blood seeping from their wounds.

Carter pushed himself to his feet, cradling the wrist of his right hand which was still curled around Lucky and grimacing at the pain. Contreras, holding a smoking rifle in both hands, rounded the corner and came into view, an uneasy smirk painted across his face. The Courier glared daggers at the man, flexing and twirling his right wrist to make sure it wasn't broken. The pain was staggering, but considering his range of motion, it seemed only badly bruised. Regardless, it hurt like hell.

Contreras regarded the corpses of the Fiends, his face still uneasy.

"I sure got 'em, huh?" Contreras's voice was shaky.

"What you almost _got_ was me killed, asshole." Carter said, as he pulled bandages from his pack. As he tended to his wrist, he examined the gun visually. "Took your sweet fucking time for what? A rifle? That's your great secret stash?"

"Part of it." Contreras said, flashing Carter a shifty look. "The rest is all packed up. But this thing's special."

He turned one side of the gun to Carter. On it, words could be made out in the overhead light.

"Well this machine kills commies….." Carter read.

"...fantastic." he acknowledged, tying off the bandages around his hand. "Let's hope it can kill more Fiends, too."

"This thing was used before the Great War. Got it in mint condition. Most valuable thing I own." Contreras explained, eyes roving over the gun almost lovingly.

"I don't care if it was used to kill your mother. As long as you can shoot Fiends with it."

"I think I've already proved it can shoot Fiends…. " Suddenly, the rifle was trained at Carter's chest, the muzzle wavering slightly. "... among other things. I'd rather not fight a bunch of Hydra-crazed junkies for you. Though it is definitely nice to have my stash back safely."

Carter chuckled, raising his hands slowly. He took a step back towards the entrance.

"Ah. See I was wondering when this might happen. You agreed to this a little too easily. Or you were just too drunk to speak."

Contreras only smirked, looking rather pleased with himself. "The alcohol helped sell it. Though I can't say I was expecting you at Gomorrah tonight."

"Well, I can say I was expecting you to show your true colors. Yellow, mostly. So you've run away from a bunch of emaciated drug addicts, what? Twice now? So I guess that makes us…. nothing alike. Oh, hey another thing I was expecting."

Contreras's face twitched with anger. His grip tightened around the rifle. The barrel steadied

"You know, ever since you climbed out of that grave in Goodsprings, there've been rumors that you're indestructible. Like some sort of god."

The Courier quirked an eyebrow. He didn't like where this was going, but he didn't show it, simply smiling at the man.

"So what, you want to know if it's true? Well I'm only human. Just a survivor. And fucking good at it. Got me a lucky streak, too, I guess. So if you wanna shoot me Contreras, do it and get it over with. Just remember how that worked out for Benny. You two can have a nice chat about it when you're burning in hell."

This Machine fired without warning, hitting Carter in the chest like a brahmin kick. Renewed pain flooded his senses as the Courier flew backwards, the point where the bullet contacted his combat armor a concentrated point of pure pain. The air forced from his lungs, he could only gasp as he hit the ground again, ears ringing from the thunderous gunshot.

"ED-E!" he yelled from his back. "Command Protocol: Attack!"

Contreras's head swivelled, looking for the robot, but the order was a feint: the eyebot never appeared. Carter curled his head up, trained Lucky on Contreras's skull, and fired twice. The ex-sergeant's head disappeared in a shower of blood and gore, brains splattering across the room like the innards of a watermelon that had just been hit with a hammer.

With Contreras dead, Carter took a few brief moments to gather himself, allowing the pain in his chest and ears to ebb lower by taking a few deep breaths before he pulled himself to his feet. He clutched a hand to his chest.

"Shoulda aimed for the head." he told the corpse, as Contreras's blood pooled on the floor.

Bending down, the Courier swiftly relieved Contreras of This Machine and his pack, adding the weight to his own gear. He wasted no time mourning his weaselly accomplice. Allmost immediately, however, regretted the extra strain on his back, the added weight causing new aches to surface along his body. Carter clenched his teeth. Somehow, he would manage.

Leaving Contreras's body behind, he moved towards the opposite end of the room, to the place where he had heard ED-E slam into the wall. The eyebot was already floating, playing some sort of war track from its speakers, but looking no worse for wear. Still, the Courier gave the robot the once over with his eyes, making sure that there was nothing out of the ordinary. Satisfied, he gave the eyebot a grin and a pat on the side.

"Looks like it's just you and me, ED-E." he remarked, sliding open a hatch on the eyebot's backside before sliding Contreras's pack into the empty compartment. His own back immediately thanked him. The robot beeped as Carter slid the hatch closed, its tone as chipper as ever.

"Honestly, I think we're pretty fucked." the Courier admitted as he popped open Lucky's chamber and pressed fresh bullets into the revolver. "But you seem optimistic." he noted as he holstered Lucky, and popped open the commie-killing Machine's chamber.

_.308 rounds…. _he noted, knowing he had found some of the ammunition in his travels. And there was no doubt some in Contreras's things as well. Still, no matter how well-armed he was, he didn't fancy going up against an unknown number of chem-crazed Fiends, most of whom would be armed with energy weapons. The Courier had always wondered how the Fiends got their hands on the things, and since the Van Graff incident, he had harbored his suspicions. The Brotherhood, he knew, would never give weapons away to others, especially Fiends: they had been reluctant enough to trust him.

Finished with his weapons check, he reloaded and cocked This Machine.

"Ready, ED-E?"

The robot chirped in response.

"Great. Then let's go see old Motor Runner."

* * *

**McCarran Main Terminal**

**July 24th, 2281**

**2:20 a.m.**

The soft, auburn glow of the Courier's Pip-Boy was the only light in the dark halls of the terminal. Here and there, lanterns hooked up to car batteries cast a baleful glow across the dusty halls at foot level, but everywhere else darkness swallowed everything. Carter's eyes were trained steadily on the map displayed on the Pip-Boy's screen. He studied the halls of the terminal. Tried to plan an attack. After going through the open doors, he and ED-E would be staring at the central termina: a round, open area that had a food service section, two seating/sleeping areas, and a few vending machines in the middle. On the opposite side, doors led out towards the entrance. Back in the NCR days, soldiers had milled about the area, armed and waiting for whatever happened next. He could only hope the Fiends wouldn't do the same. Sudden memories of the halls of Vault 3 did nothing to comfort him.

With steady, silent steps, he crept to the doors, hatchet gripped tightly in hand. So far, he and ED-E had encountered no further resistance, but it was unreasonable to expect that to last. The sounds of footsteps approaching reached his ears, freezing Carter in his tracks. He hefted the hatchet, and pressed his body, left arm first, to the wall, stifling the Pip-Boy's light. Trying not to breath, he waited as the footsteps slowly approached the doorway. As a spiky-haired head rounded the corner, he struck, pulling the Fiend into the doorframe with his left hand. The man let out a surprised yelp quickly cut off by a soft groan of pain as his body slammed into the wall. Carter's hatchet swung around immediately, catching the man in the throat with a sickening squelch, cutting off all further sound permanently. He dropped limply to the ground clutching at the wound as his life's blood gurgled from his neck, the hatchet nearly taking his head off completely. The Courier bent to wrench the axe free, but was cut off as a sizzling pain spread through his right hand, cutting straight through the bandages. Muttering curses, Carter recoiled back around the corner, pressing himself against the wall once again. In his left hand, he clutched his smarting right.

"Son of a bitch!" came a woman's voice, frantic and high-pitched. "Get yer asses up, people. Someone's here!"

Carter reached for This Machine as the sounds of dogs barking reverberated around the terminal.

"Of course. Why even bother trying to be sneaky?" he wondered aloud, as he reached to his belt. Almost casually, he brought a grenade to his mouth, ripped the pin away with his teeth, and tossed it towards the wall. The explosive ricocheted into the hallway, igniting in a thick cloud of acrid smoke. And then immediately, the dogs were upon him. Snarling and barking, three rounded the corner, one leaping towards his throat immediately. The Fiends starved them to keep their taste for flesh strong. It made them much more useful for situations like this, but Carter had dealt with Fiend mutts many times before. Hell, Violet alone had had about eight guarding her. The Courier raised his rifle, catching the mutt's jaws on the stock before twisting and throwing the dog to the ground. ED-E's lasers vaporized another instantly, but the third managed to sink its teeth into Carter's leg. The Courier screamed in pain, his eyes locking immediately on the creature. Sliding his hands down the barrel of This Machine, he clubbed the dog off of him with the butt of the gun before ending its life with a single round just as ED-E's lasers did the same to the first animal.

"Goddammit!" the Courier exclaimed, his eyes moving briefly to the leg to judge the extent of the damage. Blood dripped steadily from his calf to the ground; it felt like a piece had been taken out of his leg. More barking and strangled yells recalled the Courier's attention to the hall, where the smoke had thinned, making shadowy figures just visible in the smoke. He could pick out the dogs immediately: low to the ground and fast-moving.

"ED-E! Fire!" he directed, pointing towards the beasts.

The eyebot's guns spewed doom as the Courier reached to his belt again, his hands closing around another smoke grenades. The dogs whined pitifully as they died, ED-E's lasers burning clean through their mangy coats. Carter lobbed another smoke grenade into the hall, aiming towards an upright shadow hugging the far wall. A fresh cloud of smoke billowed from the grenade, flooding the hall anew with a choking grey shroud. From the hallway, coughs and curses sounded as the Fiends caught in the hall encountered a wall of smoke yet again. Some fired blindly in Carter's direction, throwing bullets and beams of red down the hall, lighting the hall in a dancing red glow. Carter reached into his pack, and switched out his Cowboy Hat for the Ranger Helmet, the red-tinted visor and built-in air filter promising protection from the substance that filled the hall. With the mask secured, Carter stepped into the hall, This Machine raised at the enemies in front of him.

His breathing was almost mechanical as he set to work, and his shooting was the same, each bullet he fired crippling or killing a Fiend. The Courier made short work of the lightly armored thugs in the hall, leaving a trail of dead bodies in his wake before the smoke had even begun to lighten. Half sprinting, half-limping forwards, the Courier went into a slide, rifle in one hand, reaching again to his vest as he collided with a Sunset Sarsparilla vending machine, sending an echo throughout the terminal. To his left, a flicker of movement near the eating area. Carter flicked the grenade to the right, this one plasma. It exploded in a shower of burning-hot, neon green death, incinerating everything in the area. Even the chairs were reduced to ash. The Courier, however, did not look back, keeping his eyes trained towards the food counter where the green light illuminated moving shadows along the wall. Carter pushed a fresh clip into This Machine before going to work.

Lasers flew in from behind the counter and booths, fizzling harmlessly against Carter's combat armor and Ranger helmet as he retaliated, showering bullets on a group of charging Fiends as ED-E covered his back, the sounds of the eyebot's laser gun buzzing in his ears. But there was not enough cover. Lasers and bullets alike blazed around Carter's body, singing the Courier's skin and triggering the familiar sensation of pain. Rushing forwards, he took shelter behind an overturned booth, which provided only a brief respite from the fire of the chem-crazed Fiends.

"Well this is going swimmingly." Carter remarked casually, looking up at ED-E, whose lasers still hadn't fallen silent.

"Almost wish I hadn't killed Contreras. Could use a could meat shield right now."

Unfortunately, ED-E did not have the capacity to appreciate Carter's wit. The Courier was left to deal with a screeching Fiend tearing around the side of the bench to strike at him. Judging by the intensity in her eyes and the bulging veins covering every inch of her body, she had recently shot up A LOT of Psycho. Carter whipped the butt of This Machine around striking a blow directly at her cranium, but the Fiend seemed not to notice, only staggering slightly as she whipped an arm at his face. The Courier blocked, and then fired twice with his rifle, leaving two gaping holes in the female's stomach. That, it seemed, finally slowed her down, as she collapsed to the ground, body still twitching.

Carter reloaded, the Fiend's corpse bringing back the words of an NCR corporal he had spoken with at this very Camp not so long ago.

'_I don't mind shooting Legion boys, but Fiends….sometimes I get pangs of conscience. Not often. But sometimes.'_

Carter, too, had his pangs, wondering if the Fiends he'd shot were really vicious killers or simply struggling addicts trying to survive. One stark realization always kept him going: given the chance, no matter who they were, they would not hesitate to kill him. The Courier always made sure to return the favor.

"I just want Motor-Runner!" he yelled out, putting rounds into two more Fiends, This Machine ripping through their animalistic headgear like so much tissue paper.

He was met with a chorus of curses and shouts, the Fiends defying completely his attempt to reach their leader.

"Have some laser instead, shithead!"

"I'll crush your skull motherfucker!"

"Worth a shot." Carter remarked, shooting ED-E a look. "So now I guess we just kill them all."

The sounds of doors slamming open drew the Courier's eyes to the terminal doors, where more Fiends appeared, drawn in by the sounds of fighting. Through the chaos, the distinctive sound of a chainsaw being revved to life could be heard.

_Motor-Runner._

"Fuck." Carter breathed, vaulting over the booth as a fresh volley of bullets and lasers rained on his position, thudding dully into his combat armor. Recklessly, he vaulted his cover and dashed towards the food counter, absorbing rounds from every direction as he made a final, desperate leap over the structure, striking an unwitting Fiend full-force in the throat. The raider fell away with a strangled cry as the Courier kept flying, hitting the floor on his elbow with jarring force. Above the counter, ED-E covered his mad flight, bullets and lasers alike deflecting uselessly off of its armor. Just another reason to love the Brotherhood of Steel.

"ED-E. Get down." Carter commanded the eyebot through hurried breaths. "We can only hope they don't have explosives."

With the reinforcements flooding in, they were severely outnumbered. The Courier couldn't afford to risk the only assistance he had. The eyebot beeped softly and floated down towards Carter, leaving the Fiends' weapon-fire to buzz uselessly overhead. After only a few moments, it ceased altogether, as an authoritative voice rose over the din. Motor-Runner. No doubt trying to organize the Fiends and get a handle on the situation.

Carter did not pause to consider his luck. His mind was already working on an escape plan; some way, any way to get out of the airport alive. His eyes moved around the food area frantically, recalling the myriad collection of cooking equipment that had once been stored there. Most of it was gone, taken by the Camp's new inhabitants to do with what they willed. Mostly tin cans and scrap metal remained, supplemented here and there by miscellaneous odds and ends: a roll of duct tape here, scrap electronics and sensor modules there. A lot of junk to some, but to the Courier, they were important resources. A plan quickly formed in the Courier's mind. A plan that had almost no chance of working. But in the Wasteland, you take the chances given to you. No matter how small.

Carter grabbed a tin can, shed his pack, and set to work.

* * *

"Get the fuck out here!"

Motor-Runner's gruff voice cut like a knife through the silence blanketing McCarran. "Or we'll blast you out."

At either side, his hounds barked fiercely, the sounds noticeably more forceful than those of other Fiend-owned hounds. It only made sense that the leader would have the best-fed dogs, Carter supposed. The revelation was far from comforting.

Giving ED-E's chassis a firm pat, the Courier pulled himself to his feet, his body aching from what felt like a trillion bruises, scratches, and burns. Part of his time spent behind the counter had been used to patch his injured left leg, but that was only one of the many injuries that plagued the Courier. His legs, especially, felt as though they were filled with lead. With his heartbeat pounding rapidly in his ears, Carter raised his hands in surrender, This Machine dangling in front of him while the All-American remained on his back. His poncho was ragged and torn, riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks. His helmet and combat armor were in a similar state. Tentatively, he took a step towards the group of Fiends assembled near the center, and then several more, the process painfully slow. ED-E trailed close behind. When he had finally reached a close enough distance, he stopped and simply stood. Waiting.

Motor-Runner stepped forward, his eyes trained on Carter's face. The Fiend leader stood nearly eye-to-eye with the Courier, and dressed in his ram skull headdress he looked even taller. He was noticeably more calm and robust than his counterparts. Rumor had it that, despite being the leader of the Fiends, he did not partake in the drug abuse they were known for. It showed, noted Carter, as he took in the man's healthy figure, a thick chest and arms proudly displayed by his armor's design. A stark contrast to the emaciated, hollow look of most Fiends. The leader's bright eyes ran over the Courier with ill-disguised rage. His dogs had not stopped growling since Carter appeared, their lips bared to reveal rows of threatening fangs. Flanking Motor-Runner, rifles and energy weapons of all kinds were pointed at the Courier, ready to vaporize him if he even so much as flinched. Most wavered noticeably, their wielders strung out on the drug of their choice. It was strange that none of them chose to abuse Steady, Carter observed as his eyes swept the room from behind his mask.

The Fiend leader stepped forwards, the chainsaw in his hand silent for the moment.

"Take off your mask. I like to see the people I kill."

Carter acquiesced, moving both hands to the Ranger mask, and lifting it off his head, revealing his scarred, weatherbeaten face to the man who led the Fiends. Carter watched as Motor-Runner scrutinized his visage, taking in the unkempt facial hair, sharp brown eyes, and dark skin, darkened even further by the Mojave sun. The Courier knew when the other man finally saw the scars from Benny's attack, as his eyes widened briefly before snapping back to Carter's own. He looked surprised.

"You're that Khan. Delivered a package from Jack and Diane. Sold us a bunch of drugs. But I ain't ever heard of a Khan with bullet holes in his fucking head."

"Yeah, I'm not a Khan. Seems you were pretty close to working out who I really am, though"

"Yeah, every goddamn raider and fucking wanderer in the Wasteland knows Courier Six. The fucker that came back from the dead, and proceeded to fuck shit up. Just didn't know I'd seen him in person."

"And now you've seen me twice. Imagine that."

Motor-Runner pulled the cord on his chainsaw. The machine came to life immediately, the blades spinning with a cruel, guttural roar that soon filled the whole chamber.

"Twice is enough." he said, raising the weapon threateningly towards Carter's head.

The Courier's heart leapt into his throat, but he did not flinch. Instead, he raised his right hand calmly.

"I'm still interested in continuing our business partnership, Motor-Runner." he said, trying to sound as calm as he appeared. "I brought a whole new batch of chems for you and yours. I'll even give them to you for free, considering what happened."

"You expect me to believe that crock of shit when you came in here shooting up the whole fucking Camp?"

"I was acting in self-defense. Your people started attacking me as soon as I set foot in this place. Probably because I wasn't dressed as a Khan this time?"

Of course, this was all a lie, but Motor-Runner was struck silent. Carter could see in his expression that he knew it was exactly the type of thing the Fiends would do, especially when they were high. Which was often.

"That ain't true!" a frantic voice yelled. "I saw him kill Bryce with a hatchet. Hit him right in the throat!"

"Shut up!" Motor-Runner spat back, knowing every one of them was an unreliable source.

Carter could sense the hesitancy in the leader's actions. See it in his eyes. He knew he had him.

"Fine." the man said finally, frustration edging his voice. "Give us the drugs. Can't seem to get shit since the Khans left."

"Sure." Carter agreed, smiling pleasantly as he moved towards ED-E, floating a few feet away.

"Why the hell are you going over there?" Motor-Runner questioned the Courier, eyeing the robot suspiciously.

"Use it to carry the stash. Less risk." Carter remarked nonchalantly, as if he had done this a million times before.

He opened the hatch in ED-E's chassis and withdrew Contreras's pack. Opening it up, he stuck a hand inside for a brief moment, giving the contents inside a final lookover.

"Yep, it's all there." he noted, closing the pack once again. Carter tossed the bag to Motor-Runner. "Hope you enjoy."

Motor-Runner's dogs began to bark loudly. Before the Fiend had even touched the bag, it exploded in his face.

* * *

**AN: I think this is my longest chapter to date. It was kind of a bear to write. My apologies if I dragged out the battle scene a bit too long.**


End file.
